GIFT  OF 


P 


THE   JUSTICE   OF   GIDEON 


'Alicia,  1  couldn't  think  nothiri1  that  ivas  agin — you" 


THE  JUSTICE 
OF  GIDEON 


BY 

ELEANOR  GATES 

AUTHOR  or  "THE  PLOW- WOMAN,"  "THE  BIOGRAPHY 
OF  A  PRAIRIE  GIRL,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 

1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


?  */ 


To 

Frank  and  Grace 


271008 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  JUSTICE  OF  GIDEON 9 

Doc 42 

THE  BOOMERANG 77 

BUENAS    NOCHES 108 

LITTLE    WATCHER 122 

MISSY  AND  I 133 

THE  GENEVIEVE  EPIDEMIC 153 

AGATHA'S    ESCORT 185 

A  YELLOW  MAN  AND  A  WHITE 218 

YEE  WING,  POWDER-MAN 239 

THE  SEARCH  FOR  THE  SPRING 259 

THE  SILVER  BELL  OF  Los  MORALES       ....  283 

THE  REVENGE  OF  MANUELITA 319 


THE   JUSTICE   OF   GIDEON 


THE   JUSTICE   OF  GIDEON 

THE  place  of  Justice  in  the  little  town  of 
Manzanita  was  a  low,  square,  cloth-and- 
papered  room,  bare  save  for  the  Judge's 
unpainted  pine  desk  and  armchair;  the  two 
other  chairs,  wooden-seated  and  worn,  that  stood  just 
in  front  of  the  desk,  and  were  reserved  at  trials  for 
the  constable  and  his  prisoner ;  the  four  long  benches 
directly  behind  these;  and  the  squat,  round-barreled 
stove  which,  though  it  was  midsummer  in  the  little 
Northern  California  town,  still  held  its  place  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  its  four  legs  spraddled  out  as  if 
it  were  determined  to  defy  removal  from  its  shallow 
sawdust  box.  There  was  but  one  spot  of  brightness 
in  the  whole  dingy  place.  Back  of  the  Judge's  desk, 
draped  against  the  fly-specked  wall  in  careful  folds, 
gleamed  the  red,  white  and  blue  of  the  Flag. 

The  colours  brought  the  Judge  into  sharp  relief. 
The  courtroom  being  deserted,  his  coat  was  off,  and 
hung  near  by  him  on  a  nail  under  his  black,  slouch 
hat ;  and  he  was  seated  on  the  small  of  his  back,  his 
long  legs  crossed  and  stretched  out  into  the  unrailed 
prisoner's  dock,  his  elbows  planted  upon  the  arms 
of  his  chair,  and  his  hands  pressed  against  his 
temples,  so  that  they  shielded  his  eyes.  About  him 
were  his  books,  calf-bound  and  heavy.  They  stood 
in  front  of  him,  to  his  right  hand  and  to  his  left, 


10  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

in  columns  of  six;  in  other  columns  they  weighted 
the  strip  of  matting  under  his  feet,  and  flanked  his 
chair  at  either  side.  One  was  open  before  him.  It 
was  set  upon  the  middle  button  of  his  vest,  and  had 
for  a  rear  support  the  front  edge  of  the  desk.  He 
was  deep  in  the  study  of  it.  Across  its  pages  at 
intervals  rolled  a  white  cloud  from  his  pipe — rolled 
like  the  smoke  of  his  own  silent  battle  for  the  Truth 
— and  went  floating  upward  to  be  dissolved  and  lost 
amid  the  dust-heavy  cobwebs  of  the  ceiling. 

He  lifted  his  eyes,  presently;  some  one  was  ap 
proaching  the  front  door.  The  rickety  sidewalk 
leading  up  to  the  courtroom  from  the  general  mer 
chandise  store  down  the  street  acted  as  an  unofficial 
herald  to  him;  for  one  section  of  it,  as  unfixed  as  a 
raft,  banged  to  the  tread  of  all  oncomers,  and  a 
couple  of  loose  boards  still  closer  at  hand  creaked 
and  flapped  when  they  were  stepped  upon.  The 
footfall  now  nearing  was  light.  The  Judge  laid 
down  his  pipe,  rose  hastily,  straightening  out  six 
feet  of  stalwart  length,  and  reached  for  his  coat. 

The  next  moment  the  round,  ruffled  top  of  a  white 
parasol  curtained  the  small  square  of  glass  in  the 
door.  Then  the  parasol  folded,  a  slim  hand  turned 
the  knob  and  a  girl  stood  on  the  threshold — a 
bareheaded,  brown-haired  girl  in  a  white  muslin 
dress. 

"  Oh,  Alicia,"  said  the  Judge,  giving  a  last  set 
tling  jerk  to  his  coat.  A  wave  of  colour  swept  up 
from  the  sun-burned  lower  half  of  his  face  and  red 
dened  his  forehead. 

"  I'd  like  to  speak  to  you  a  minute,  Gid,"  said  the 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  11 

girl  timidly.  "  I'm  sorry  if  I'm  breaking  in  on  your 
work." 

"  You  ain't  a-breakin'  in  on  my  work,"  he  pro 
tested.  "  Not  a  bit  of  it." 

She  closed  the  door  behind  her  and  crossed  the 
floor  quickly.  She  was  slender,  and  the  wide  girdle 
of  black  satin  that  she  wore  emphasised  her  slender- 
ness. 

The  Judge,  smiling  bashfully,  bowed  across  his 
desk  with  mock  ceremony.  "  Take  the  prisoner's 
chair,"  he  said. 

She  sat  down,  but  with  no  answering  smile.  Her 
manner  was  somewhat  nervous  and  her  grey  eyes 
were  full  of  concern. 

He  took  his  seat  behind  the  desk  and  leaned  to 
ward  her.  His  eyes  were  grey  like  her  own,  and 
set  in  a  young  face  so  grave,  and  so  lined  by  thought 
and  care — as  well  as  by  long-continued  exposure  to 
wind  and  sun — that,  at  first  glance,  he  seemed  much 
older  than  he  was.  "  I  don't  have  my  little  talk 
with  Mrs.  Luce  an'  Jim  till  'leven  o'clock,"  he  ex 
plained.  "  An'  so  I'm — I'm  glad  you  dropped  in." 

Her  cheeks  grew  pink  all  at  once.  "  I  see  you 
been  getting  some  new  books."  She  nodded  toward 
the  column  on  his  right  hand. 

"  Yas ;  four  or  five  of  these  come  this  last  week." 

"  They  cost,  too,  don't  they?  And  if  you  run  for 
district  attorney,  that'll  take  money." 

He  was  still  leaning  forward.  And  now  his  look 
suddenly  became  all  eagerness.  "  Alicia,  I  got  a 
secret!  An'  I  been  just  a-waitin'  t'  tell  it  to  you.  I 
been  promised  the  nomination." 

"  You  have!     Oh,  Gid,  I'm  so  glad!  " 


12  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"Thank  y',  Alicia.  That's  the  reason  I  been 
studyin'  harder'n  ever  lately.  I'm  savin'  up  my 
money,  too.  I  got  five  hunderd  a'ready.  These 
days  I  almost  hate  to  put  out  a  cent  on  books." 

"  You've  done  enough  for  others,"  she  said  ear 
nestly.  "  It's  time  you  spent  your  money  on  your 
self." 

"  When  I'm  district  attorney  I'm  a-goin'  to  buy 
a  piece  of  property  up  at  the  county  seat  an'  have 
a  home  of  my  own."  He  paused,  watching  her  wist 
fully.  "  An'  if  things  turn  out  as  I  look  to  see  'em," 
he  went  on  in  a  low  voice,  "  I'm  a-goin'  to  marry. 
I'll  be  thirty  my  next  birthday.  If  I  wait  any  longer 
I  s'pose  folks'll  begin  t'  call  me  a'  ole  bach." 

The  colour  in  her  cheeks  deepened.  "  I  think  you 
ought  to  marry,"  she  agreed.  But  she  looked  down, 
and  picked  at  the  ruffles  of  her  parasol. 

"  I've  thought  about  it  a  good  deal.  So  far, 
though — wal,  you  know  how  it's  been  "  (this  very 
gently).  "There  was  that  boy." 

"  Oh,  Gid !  "  Now  she  lifted  her  face.  Her  eyes 
were  swimming ;  her  lips  were  trembling.  "  Gid, — 
it's  about  Homer  that  I've  come." 

He  sat  back,  and  was  silent  for  a  long  moment, 
watching  her  keenly.  "  I  see,"  he  said  finally,  his 
own  face  very  grave.  He  spoke  aloud  and  yet  as 
if  to  himself.  "  Yas — I  think  I  understand — how  it 
is."  He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  The  town  is  talking  about  him,  Gid, — talking 
awfully  mean." 

Instantly  he  straightened  in  his  chair  and  looked 
across  at  her,  amazed  and  troubled.  "  About 
Homer?  W'y,  what's  bein'  said?" 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  13 

"  It  started  after  Mr.  Carpenter's  last  trip  up 
from  San  Francisco.  And — — " 

"  Carpenter,  the  fruit-buyer?  " 

"  Yes.  He  handed  over  all  the  Manzanita  ship 
ping  and  paying  to  Homer,  you  know." 

"  Homer's  Business  College  trainin'  come  in  handy 
that  time,"  said  the  Judge  proudly. 

"  I  hope  he'll  never  forget  that  he's  got  you  to 
thank  for  his  education,"  she  went  on.  "  You've 
been  more  than  a  brother  to  him — ever  since  he  was 
in  his  baby-buggy  and  you  were  a  little  fellow. 
Mother  says  so.  Just  because  his  father  was  dead." 

"  His  maw  has  allus  been  sickly,"  reminded  the 
Judge.  "  An'  I  ain't  missed  the  little  I  paid  out 
for  him.  He's  a  fine  boy,  that's  what  he  is.  There 
ain't  a  finer  or  a  handsomer  or  a  stylisher  boy  in 
town.  An'  he's  smart.  Didn't  them  Business  Col 
lege  fellers  hand  him  a  medal  for  fancy  penman 
ship?  So  there's  a  few  people  in  this  town  that's 
jealous  of  him.  Wai,  who  cares?  " 

She  rose  and  stepped  forward  to  the  desk.  "  Gid," 
she  said,  "  I  hate  to  tell  you.  But  I  must.  Oh,  I 
knew  you'd  be  the  last  person  to  hear  anything !  " 

"  What  can  man,  woman  or  child  find  to  say  agin 
Homer  Scott? "  he  asked  huskily. 

"  Since  Mr.  Carpenter  went  Homer's  acted  differ 
ent.  He  hasn't  been  over  to  our  house  lately,  or  to 
see  his  other  friends.  He  goes  to  the  Occidental 
Hotel  of  evenings — with  Jim  Luce  and  his  crowd." 

"  And ? "  He  was  leaning  forward  once 

more. 

"  And  folks  say  that — that  he's  gambling." 

"  Gamblin'."     He  repeated  it  under  his  breath. 


14  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  After  all  you've  done  for  him,  h^e  ought  to 
think  of  what'll  please  you — not  what'll  hurt." 

He  propped  his  head  between  his  hands  and  stared 
at  the  desk.  But  presently  he  looked  up  at  her 
again,  confident  and  smiling.  "  Alicia,"  he  said,  "  if 
there  was  a  law  in  Manzanita  agin  gossip,  half  the 
town  would  bust  it  so  often  they'd  have  to  move, 
bag  an'  baggage,  an'  live  in  yonder."  He  gave  a 
sidewise  nod  of  the  head.  The  rear  door  of  the 
courtroom  was  standly  partly  ajar.  Through  it 
could  be  seen  several  small  barred  openings — the 
windows  of  the  neighbouring  jail. 

"  Now  you  know,  an'  I  know,  that  Homer  Scott 
don't  gamble,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course,  there  always  is  a  lot  of  talk  going 
around,"  she  admitted.  "  But  this  worried  me,  Gid, 
because "  She  hesitated. 

"Because  w'y?" 

She  faced  him  once  more.  "  I  wouldn't  say  this  to 
anybody  else.  But — Mr.  Carpenter  left  some  money 
with  Homer  to  pay  for  peaches.  He  left  eight  hun 
dred  dollars.  I've  been  afraid — you  know  what  I 
mean,  Gid.  And — and  it  would  be  so  hard  for 
Homer  to  pay  Carpenter  back." 

The  Judge  stood  up  impatiently.  "  If  a  man 
takes  a  glass  of  lemonade  at  the  Occidental,  all  the 
old  hens  in  town  think  he's  a-goin'  to  have  the  d.  t's. 
If  he  plays  a  game  of  casino  he's  gone  to  the  bad." 

The  colour  left  Alicia's  face.  "  I — I  suppose 
you'll  think  I'm  a  gossip,"  she  said,  and  turned  away. 

"  No,"  he  answered  gently.  He  came  around  to 
her.  "  Alicia,  I  couldn't  think  nothin'  that  was  agin 
• — you.  Do  you  believe  me?  "  Then,  seeing  that 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  15 

fresh  tears  were  welling  to  her  eyes,  "  Don't  cry. 
Homer  ain't  guilty.  I  can  tell  you  that.  An'  what's 
more,  I'll  look  out  for  him,  little  woman.  You  de 
pend  on  it." 

There  was  silence  between  them  again.  He 
watched  her,  his  grey  eyes  full  of  anxiety — even 
pain.  She  was  brushing  at  her  wet  lashes,  and 
looking  out  through  the  front  door. 

66 1 — I  must  go  now,"  she  said  presently. 

"Must  y'?  Wai,  will  you  come  again  soon?" 
He  followed  her  to  the  door. 

"  You  come  and  see  us,  Gid.     Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye."  He  closed  the  door  behind  her,  and 
as  far  as  he  could  see  her  watched  her  go.  She 
crossed  the  street,  picking  her  way  through  the  brick- 
red  dust,  ankle  deep,  to  the  railroad  track  that  halved 
the  town.  The  bobbing  parasol  now  hid,  now  dis 
closed,  her  small,  dark  head  and  the  girlish  bow  of 
wide  ribbon  at  the  nape  of  her  neck.  She  passed 
the  town  hall  opposite,  entered  a  street  that  ran  at 
[right  angles  to  the  track,  and  disappeared  from 
his  sight  beneath  some  low-branched  pepper- 
trees. 

He  did  not  leave  the  door  at  once,  but  looked  out 
to  where  he  had  last  seen  her.  After  a  while,  with 
a  deep  sigh,  he  returned  slowly  to  his  desk,  stumbled 
over  a  pile  of  books  at  his  armchair,  and  sat  down. 
"  She's  like  a  posy,"  he  half-whispered,  "  — like  a 
posy,  an'  him  gamblin' ! " 

A  wrangle  of  voices  sounded  from  without.  Then 
the  sidewalk  began  to  bang  and  creak  to  a  double 
tread.  The  Judge  took  out  his  watch.  It  was 
eleven.  He  assumed  a  judicial  attitude.  The  next 


16  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

moment  a  man  and  a  woman  paused  at  the  front 
door,  the  one  scolding  into  the  face  of  the  other, 
gave  the  door  a  thump,  each  with  an  angry  fist,  and 
entered. 

"  Gid'll  settle  things  fair,"  cried  the  woman.  "  A 
lawyer  would  just  run  up  a  bill." 

"  Wall,  what'm  I  here  for?  "  stormed  the  man.  "  I 
ain't  feared  to  let  Gid  settle  it." 

"  Just  the  same,  you  didn't  come  till  I  went  after 
you." 

"  Howdy,  Mrs.  Luce,"  said  the  Judge  quietly. 
"  Howdy,  Jim.  Set  down." 

"  What  I  hate,"  explained  the  woman,  addressing 
the  Judge,  "  is  coming  up  Main  Street  with  a  man 
I've  divorced."  She  spoke  so  forcibly  that  her  pen 
dent  earrings — large,  pinkish  pearls  of  glass — swung 
backward  and  forward  against  her  thin,  wrinkled 
neck.  "  The  whole  town'll  be  talking.  And  I'm 
suffering  enough  as  it  is.  My  sister,  she  said  to  me 
when  I  got  engaged,  '  You  marry  him,  and  you're 
hunting  trouble,'  but  I " 

The  Judge  held  up  a  hand  to  enjoin  silence. 
"  Jim,"  he  said,  "  I'll  hear  your  side  of  this  fuss 
first.  Mrs.  Luce,  accordin'  to  the  laws  of  all  civy- 
lised  countries,  you,  bein'  as  you're  a  woman,  you 
git  the  last  word."  He  gave  her  a  kindly  smile. 

Luce  was  short  and  thick-set,  with  a  face  as  round 
and  red  as  the  full  moon  seen  through  a  dust-cloud. 
He  shrugged  his  heavy  shoulders  in  disgust.  "  And 
my  sister  says  to  me  when  I  married,  '  Jim,  you  can 
be  anything  you  want  to  be  if  you  just  git  the  right 
kind  of  a  wife.'  Now  see  what  I  am,  Judge, — 
nothin'." 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  17 

"  Some  behind  in  your  alimony,  ain't  you,  Jim  ?  " 
inquired  the  Judge, 

"  Three  months.  But  I'll  have  the  cash  as  soon 
as  I  ship  my  pear  crop.  She  says  she  can't  wait. 
What's  the  matter  with  her?  " 

"  My  self-playing  piano's  the  matter  with  me," 
retorted  Mrs.  Luce.  "  I  only  paid  forty  down  on 
it  last  spring.  There's  one  hundred  and  fifteen  due 
in  ten  days  from  now — or  lose  the  piano.  Jim  can 
get  me  the  money  if  he  wants  to,  Judge.  He's  just 
sold  his  peaches." 

"  I  ain't  been  paid  fer  'em,"  declared  Luce. 

"  That's  another,"  said  Mrs.  Luce.  "  He  got  his 
peach  money  all  right,  and  spent  it." 

"I  didn't!" 

"You  did!" 

u  T » 

Once  more  the  Judge's  hand  came  up.  "  Jim,"  he 
began,  "  far's  I'm  concerned,  I'm  pretty  helpless  in 
this  case.  All  over  this  country  the  law  is  plain  as 
day  on  this  point:  The  feller  that's  sentenced  to 
pay  alimony,  and  don't  pay,  gits  sold  out  or  sent 
to  the  cooler." 

"  I'm  goin*  to  Canada  to  live,"  declared  Luce 
hotly.  "  Here  she's  got  plenty,  an'  still  the  United 
States  law  allows  her  to  hector  me.  W'y,  she  owns 
a  string  of  gold  nuggets  as  long  as  your  arm — her 
paw  gave  'em  to  her.  Them  nuggets  is  worth  a  lot. 
She  don't  have  to  come  to  me." 

"  My  father  dug  that  string  up  with  his  own 
hands,"  said  Mrs.  Luce.  "  It  was  the  last  thing  he 
ever  gave  me.  And  " — with  exasperating  finality — 
"  it  won't  be  sold." 


18  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Wai,  borrow  on  it,"  suggested  Luce  wrathfully. 
"  Judge,  I  can't  put  my  pears  on  to  the  cars  when 
they're  greener'n  cucumbers.  Ask  Homer  if  there's 
a  man  in  this  hull  Valley  that's  shippin'  pears." 

Mrs.  Luce  smiled.  "  Jim'd  lie  and  Homer'd 
swear  to  it,"  she  observed  with  a  knowing  nod  and 
a  wink. 

The  Judge  gave  her  a  look  of  grave  reproval. 
"  Nobody's  ever  caught  Homer  Scott  swearin'  to  a 
lie,"  he  contradicted  coldly. 

The  round  face  of  Luce  brightened,  and  he 
hastened  to  take  advantage  of  the  Judge's  evident 
displeasure.  "  That's  the  kind  of  wild  talk  she's 
allus  gittin'  off,"  he  declared.  "She  don't  have 
nothin'  to  do  but  talk.  Here  I  am,  a  hard-workin' 
man,  an'  have  to  support  her.  She  don't  even  come 
down  to  the  ranch  an'  help  pack  fruit." 

Mrs.  Luce  gave  a  sniff.  "  I  don't  associate  with 
the  prune-jammer  crowd,"  she  said.  "Whenever  I 
want  a  little  spending  money  I  wash  dishes  at  the 
Occidental." 

"  The  law,"  informed  the  Judge,  in  his  most  offi 
cial  tone,  but  with  a  twinkle  in  the  grey  eyes,  " — the 
law  don't  name  just  what  kind  of  work  a  divorced 
lady  has  to  do." 

Luce  rose,  kicking  his  chair  out  of  the  way,  and 
pointed  a  stubby  finger  at  a  column  of  calf-bound 
books.  "  None  of  them  laws,"  he  said,  "  read  to  me 
as  if  they  was  made  for  men.  No;  they  was  made 
to  please  the  women — I  guess  I  know !  Wai,  let  her 
have  'em  on  me  if  she  wants  to.  I'll  go  to  jail.  I 
don't  care." 

"  She'd  be  makin'  the  biggest  mistake  in  the  world 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  19 

if  she  put  you  in  jail,"  said  the  Judge  earnestly. 
"  No  man  can  raise  money  when  he's  killin'  time. 
An'  you'd  bother  me  a  lot  if  you  was  in  yonder.  The 
prisoners  allus  interfere  with  my  studyin'.  Seems 
like  they  have  to  be  amused  when  they  been  in  a 
few  days,  an'  it  all  comes  on  me.  The  constable 
thinks  he's  did  his  duty  when  he  gits  'em  locked  up. 
So  off  he  goes,  lookin'  after  his  saloon,  or  his  cattle, 
or  to  set  salmon-lines."  Then  he  turned  to  Mrs. 
Luce  with  an  admonishing  shake  of  the  finger. 
"  After  this,"  he  counseled,  "  fix  it  so's  the  pear  crop 
an'  the  piano-man  come  t'gether." 

At  that,  feeling  herself  twice  rebuked,  Mrs.  Luce 
arose  with  some  spirit.  "  What's  that  got  to  do 
with  Jim's  scaring  up  my  back  alimony  ?"  she  in 
quired  defiantly.  Then,  stiff  with  resentment,  she 
walked  out. 

When  she  was  gone  the  Judge  slid  down  in  his 
chair  until  he  was  again  seated  upon  the  small  of 
his  back,  and  from  across  the  top  of  his  desk  he 
fixed  solemn  eyes  upon  Luce.  "  Jim,"  he  said,  "  you 
cut  out  that  little  bunch  at  the  Occidental.  Them 
fellers  have  forgot  more  about  poker  than  you  ever 
learnt." 

The  other's  face  took  on  a  deeper  hue.  He 
squirmed  under  the  searching  glance.  "  They  don't 
git  nothin'  away  from  me,"  he  declared. 

"  An'  cards,"  went  on  the  Judge  evenly,  "  is  a 
blamed  poor  excuse  when  a  man's  bein'  sued." 

"  Oh,  you're  dead  right  there,  Gid." 

"  Glad  you  see  it.  You  don't  want  t'  be  responsi 
ble  if  any  man  drops  his  money — especially  if  it's  a 
young  man." 


20  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

When  he  was  alone  once  more  the  Judge  got  up 
to  pace  the  courtroom,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
him,  his  chin  on  his  breast.  As  he  walked  his  lips 
moved  in  silent  debate,  and  he  shook  his  head  em 
phatically  from  time  to  time.  Presently,  a  distant 
gong  clanged,  announcing  the  noon  hour.  He  went 
to  the  rear  door  and  stood  on  its  threshold,  looking 
away  to  the  north.  Near  at  hand,  bordering  the1 
town,  were  orchards  heavy  with  their  fruitage.  Be 
yond  these  showed  brown  foothills,  round  and  oak- 
dotted  ;  still  farther,  a  higher  range,  all  misty  blue. 
Its  summit  was  Shasta,  rising  against  a  serene  sky, 
and  wearing,  despite  the  heat,  an  ermine  stole  over 
her  dark  shoulders. 

He  watched  the  mountain,  his  hands  at  his  temples 
to  shield  his  eyes,  until  a  procession  of  low  fruit- 
wagons  passed  through  the  back  street  on  its  way  to 
the  near-by  orchards.  Then  he  clapped  on  his  hat 
resolutely,  went  out  of  the  front  door,  slamming  it 
behind  him,  and  strode  away  across  the  creaking, 
teetering  sidewalk  toward  the  long  shipping-shed 
down  the  street. 

As  he  entered  the  building  there  were  no  wagons 
at  the  side  door,  but  six  hatless,  perspiring  men  in 
blue  overalls  were  carrying  boxes  out  of  the  shed 
and  into  the  refrigerator  car  on  the  siding,  and  the 
air  was  sweet  and  heavy  with  the  perfume  of 
peaches.  At  the  gangboard  leading  into  the  car 
stood  a  young  man,  busily  checking  off  the  boxes 
as  they  passed  him.  His  coat  was  off,  showing  a 
freshly-laundered  shirt  with  a  dainty  figure,  and  a 
spotless  vest  of  white  duck.  His  trousers  were  as 
carefully  pressed  as  his  vest,  and  he  wore  an  imita 
tion  Panama  hat  with  a  bright  silk  band,  and  tan 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  21 

half-shoes  upon  each  of  which  flashed  a  brass 
buckle. 

"  Hello,  Gid !  "  he  called  out  gaily  as  he  caught 
sight  of  the  Judge. 

The  Judge's  face  broke  into  a  slow,  pleased  smile. 
"  Hello,  Homer ,"  he  returned.  "  Say !  give  the  boys 
a  breathin'  spell,  won't  y'?  I  want  to  see  you  a 
minute." 

The  perspiring  half-dozen  promptly  collapsed 
upon  empty  boxes,  blowing  in  discomfort  and  wiping 
at  their  faces  with  sleeve  or  handkerchief.  The 
Judge  nodded  to  them  and  followed  Homer  to  one 
end  of  the  shed,  where  rough  boards,  nailed  upright, 
formed  a  small  office-room. 

"Well?"  said  Homer  inquiringly,  when  the  door 
shut  them  in.  His  eyes  were  blue  and  frank,  and 
now  they  regarded  the  Judge  with  eager  confidence. 

The  elder  man  put  a  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  younger.  "  Boy,"  he  began,  "  we  been  such 
pardners,  you  an'  me,  that  I  know  you'll  take  what 
I'm  a-goin'  to  say  just  the  way  I  mean  it." 

The  confident  look  quickly  faded.  Homer  fell 
back  a  step.  "What's  doing?"  he  asked.  "A 
kick  of  some  kind?  " 

"  No-o-o,"   answered  the  Judge ;   "  advice." 

The  other  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  That's  worse." 

"  I  been  Justice  of  the  Peace  for  so  long,  Homer, 
that  the  advice  business  has  come  to  be  a  habit." 

"  Fire  ahead."     The  blue  eyes  were  resentful. 

"  It  don't  amount  to  much,  what  I'm  a-goin'  to 
say,"  proceeded  the  Judge,  "  because  I  know  blamed 
well  that  you  ain't  doin'  what  they  say  you're  doin'." 

"  '  They  '  is  usually  a  liar." 


22  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"But  sometimes,  '  Where  there's  smoke  there's 
fire  ' — as  the  sayin'  goes.  In  this  case  there's  just 
enough  smoke  to  worry  me." 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  worry  if  I  was  you.  What's 
your  gossip?  " 

The  hand  that  was  resting  on  the  younger  man's 
shoulder  dropped  to  the  Judge's  side.  "  Folks  say 
you're  gamblin'." 

There  was  scarcely  a  noticeable  paling  of  Homer's 
face,  but  a  sneer  curved  his  mouth.  "  Gambling !  " 
he  repeated.  "  I'll  bet  you  got  that  yarn  from  a 
woman." 

"  Yas,"  admitted  the  Judge. 

"  If  you're  going  to  believe  every  little  bit  of  tit 
tle-tattle  that  the  women  tell  you,  you  won't  have 
much  time  for  your  books." 

"  Homer,"  said  the  Judge  sternly,  "  you're  pretty 
close  to  bein'  sassy  to  the  best  friend  you've  got  in 
the  hull  world,  barrin'  your  maw." 

"  You're  finding  fault  with  me.  And  I  hate  to 
be  picked  at.  I'm  not  a  kid  any  more,  to  be  followed 
and  watched  and  whistled  into  the  house  at  sundown. 
I'm  a  man." 

"  Wai,  act  like  a  man  then." 

"  I  will  if  you'll  let  me  alone.  Gambling ! 
Wouldn't  it  make  you  sick!  As  if  a  nickel  ante 
hurts  anybody!  I'll  let  this  town  know  that  I  earn 
my  money  and  I've  got  a  right  to  do  what  I  please 
with  it." 

"  Long  as  you  don't  hurt  your  maw." 

"  She'll  be  ready  to  jump  on  me,  I  suppose,  when 
I  go  home  to-night." 

"  Or  as  long  as  you  don't  hurt — Alicia." 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  23 

"Alicia?  Huh!" — sullenly — "she  don't  care 
anything  about  me." 

"  That's  where  you're  mistaken,  boy.  She  likes 
you,  Homer,  an'  you  like  her — don't  you?  "  He 
lowered  his  head,  searching  the  face  of  the  other. 

"  Yes,  of  course.  But  she's  just  like  the  rest  of 
the  women  in  this  town.  They're  all  backwoods, 
that's  what  they  are — backwoods.  If  they'd  ever 
been  outside  of  Manzanita,  and  seen  something,  they 
wouldn't  be  so  confounded  narrow.  They  don't 
want  to  have  any  fun  themselves  and  they  don't 
want  anybody  else  to  have  any.  I  never  saw  such 
a  place ! " 

The  Judge  sighed  and  turned  to  the  door. 
"  Mebbe  it'd  a-been  better  if  I  hadn't  opened  my 
mouth,"  he  said.  "  But — it  seemed  serious,  kinda. 
So  long,  Homer."  He  went  out,  his  hands  in  the 
outer  pockets  of  his  coat,  his  head  down. 

That  night,  no  light  burned  until  a  late  hour  on 
the  unpainted  desk  in  the  place  of  Justice.  After 
supper,  young  Judge  Gideon  Carr  strolled  down  to 
the  Occidental  and  sprinkled  the  ashes  of  his  pipe 
upon  the  only  stretch  of  cement  sidewalk  in  town. 
And  ten  o'clock  found  him  still  there,  tipped  back 
against  the  wall  beside  the  high  swinging  doors  that 
screened  the  barroom  from  passers-by  in  the  street. 

Shortly  after  ten,  two  figures  approached  the 
hotel  from  the  direction  of  the  shipping-shed.  One 
was  short  and  thick-set ;  the  other  wore  a  hat  banded 
with  bright  silk.  The  street  was  illy  lighted,  and 
they  did  not  see  the  figure  by  the  door  until  the 
thick-set  man,  who  was  leading,  was  within  arm's 
length  of  it.  Then  the  Judge  moved,  looking  up 


24  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

into  the  faces  of  the  two.  Luce  gave  him  a  swift 
glance  and  entered  the  barroom.  But  Homer  halted 
suddenly,  called  a  nervous  good-night  after  his  com 
panion,  turned  away  sharply,  and  hurried  into  the 
darkness  toward  home. 

The  next  evening  found  the  Judge  again  tipped 
back  in  a  chair  beside  the  barroom  entrance.  But 
the  third  evening  he  came  to  his  station  at  a  late 
hour  and,  before  sitting  down,  parted  the  swinging 
doors  to  stand  between  them  a  moment,  leisurely 
surveying  the  brightly-lighted  room. 

Each  night  afterward  he  returned — always  at  a 
different  hour.  Midnight  of  the  day  the  first  re 
frigerator  cars  intended  for  the  pear  shipment  were 
shunted  upon  the  siding  at  the  shipping-shed  he 
again  came  face  to  face  with  Jim  Luce  at  the  Occi 
dental.  The  rancher  had  been  drinking,  and  walked 
unsteadily,  so  the  Judge  stepped  out  of  his  way.  But 
Luce  recognised  him,  and  turned  upon  him  with  a 
curse. 

"  You  been  spyin'  on  me,"  charged  Luce  thickly. 
"  Just  as  if  I  ain't  got  a  right  to  spend  my  money 
like  I  want  to!  I  say,  you  been  spyin'  on  me,  an' 
you  can't  deny  it."  He  wavered  from  side  to  side 
before  the  tall  figure  of  the  Judge.  "  But  you  cut 
it  out.  You  hear  me?  You  cut  it  out." 

"  What  do  I  want  to  spy  on  you  for?  "  inquired 
the  Judge  mildly.  "You're  full,  Jim." 

"  You're  mixin'  up  in  my  business,"  shrilled  the 
other.  "  But  I'll  pay  that  alimony  when  I  git  good 
an'  ready." 

The  swinging  doors  were  opening  now  and  men 
were  coming  out. 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  25 

"  Don't  stir  up  no  fracas,"  advised  the  Judge. 
"I'm  Justice  of  the  Peace,  mind  y' — Peace.  An' 
I'm  goin'  to  see  that  it's  kept." 

The  next  moment  the  little  crowd  was  treated  to 
an  exciting  outcome  of  the  meeting.  Luce  stag 
gered  forward  and  struck.  The  Judge,  avoiding  the 
blow,  seized  the  rancher  by  the  upturned  collar  of 
his  coat,  shook  him  vigorously  and  led  him  away  up 
the  street,  half  a  dozen  of  the  curious  falling  in 
behind.  The  general  merchandise  store  was  passed, 
and  the  rickety  sidewalk;  then  the  Judge  unlocked 
a  door  beyond  the  entrance  of  the  courtroom. 

"  Jim,"  he  said,  "  you  been  itchin'  for  the  lockup. 
And  here  you  are !  " 

He  pulled  his  prisoner  after  him  into  a  dark  room. 
Some  one  struck  a  match,  and  the  room  was  seen  to 
contain  a  narrow  bed,  and  a  table  upon  which  were 
writing  materials.  The  Judge  tumbled  Luce  upon 
the  bed  without  ceremony.  Then  the  crowd  backed 
out,  and  the  key  was  turned  in  the  lock  once  more. 

"  It's  all  over,  boys,"  said  the  Judge  from  the 
sidewalk.  "  Good-night." 

He  walked  away  in  one  direction,  and  his  late 
audience,  moving  slowly  back  toward  the  Occidental, 
divided  itself  on  the  question  as  to  whether  or  not  a 
Justice  of  the  Peace  had  a  right  to  make  an  arrest. 

Dawn  found  Jim  Luce  asleep  upon  his  prison- 
cot.  But  by  six  o'clock  he  was  well  on  his  way  to 
ward  his  ranch;  while  by  breakfast-time  a  check  in 
full  for  back  alimony  was  dispatched  to  Mrs.  Luce 
through  the  medium  of  a  small,  barefooted  boy  who 
lived  behind  the  jail. 

At  the  middle  of  that  same  morning  the  Judge  sat 


26  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

at  his  desk,  combing  his  hair  with  his  fingers.  His 
face  was  unwontedly  pale,  his  eyes  were  heavy  from 
lack  of  sleep.  But  a  calf-bound  book  was  open  be 
fore  him,  and  he  was  bent  over  it  almost  doggedly. 

He  straightened  wearily  as  a  woman  entered — • 
Mrs.  Luce,  her  face  tear-marked,  her  mouth  bent  in 
a  disconsolate  half-moon.  "  W'y,  what's  the  mat 
ter?  "  he  asked  with  concern.  "Ain't  Jim's  check 
good?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  hurried  forward  to  the 
desk.  "  I  want  a  warrant,"  she  cried.  "  I  think 
it's  a  shame  and  a  disgrace  that  the  constable  won't 
arrest  him  without  a  warrant." 

"  The  constable  must  foller  the  law,"  explained 
the  Judge.  "  Set  down,  Mrs.  Luce.  Who's  your 
warrant  for?  " 

Her  hands  were  clenched  as  if  she  had  something 
hateful  in  their  grasp.  "  It's  for  that  nice,  stylish 
dude  you're  always  bragging  up,"  she  said  sarcas 
tically.  "  He's  a  thief,  that's  what  he  is — a  com 
mon,  two-faced  thief !  " 

"Dude?"  repeated  the  Judge,  puzzled. 

"  Mr.  Homer  Scott." 

The  Judge  stared  her  in  the  face.  "  Hush !  "  he 
commanded  sternly.  "  You  don't  know  what  you're 
a-sayin'." 

"Oh,  I  don't!"  She  laughed  bitterly.  "Well, 
you'll  change  your  mind." 

"  You're  a-talkin'  strong  talk,  Mrs.  Luce.  What 
d'  you  claim  he's  stole?  " 

"  My  nuggets." 

"  How  did  he  come  to  have  your  nuggets  ?  Set 
down." 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  27 

"  I  gave  'em  to  him  for  security.  I  borrowed  a 
hundred  and  fifteen  dollars  of  his  peach-money  that 
day  I  was  in  here  with  Jim.  At  first  I  wanted  him 
to  give  me  the  money  and  then  dock  Jim  that  much 
on  his  pears.  But  he  wouldn't  do  that.  He  made 
me  a  straight  loan  and  asked  for  security.  I  took 
him  my  nuggets." 

"  He  didn't  ask  for  'em?  " 

"  No ;  it  was  my  idea.  The  string  was  easy  for 
him  to  keep  in  his  safe." 

"  You  didn't  take  no  receipt  for  it,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  That's  where  I  made  a  big  mistake.  This  morn 
ing,  the  second  I  got  my  check,  I  wrote  my  name 
across  it,  went  down  to  the  shipping-shed  and  handed 
it  to  Homer.  He  took  it,  remarked  that  I  was  ahead 
of  time,  and  went  on  with  his  writing.  I  noticed  his 
hand  shook  something  terrible." 

"  Cigareets,"  said  the  Judge  sadly.  "  He  learnt 
that  in  the  city." 

"  A  guilty  conscience,  more  likely.  I  says  to  him, 
'Well,  Homer,  are  the  nuggets  handy?  I'll  take 
'em  if  they  are.'  He  looked  up  almost  like  he  didn't 
understand.  '  The  nuggets  ? '  he  says.  *  What 
nuggets  ?  '  '  Why,  the  nuggets  I  handed  you  as 
security.'  '  You  didn't  give  me  any  nuggets,'  he 
says.  «  Yes,  I  did.'  <  Why,  you  didn't  either! '  He 
was  nice  and  friendly  all  the  time,  Judge,  but  said 
I  was  mistaken.  Well,  I'm  not  mistaken."  Her 
voice  rose  excitedly.  "  He's  been  gambling  with 
Jim ;  he's  short  of  money ;  Carpenter,  the  fruit-man, 
is  back  in  town,  and  Homer's  scared." 

The  face  of  the  Judge  grew  pallid,  and  fear  came 
into  the  grey  eyes.  He  drew  in  a  quick  breath. 


28  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Mrs.  Luce,  you're  yellin'.  Do  you  want  the  hull 
town  t'  hear?  Let's  settle  this  without  a  crowd. 
You  say  Carpenter's  here?  " 

"  Came  in  on  the  five-eight."  She  looked  across 
at  the  Judge  defiantly. 

"  Mrs.  Luce  " — his  voice  was  husky  with  plead 
ing — "  I  think  the  boy's  playin'  a  joke  on  you." 

"Well,  he  didn't  act  joky.  And  I  want  his  safe 
opened." 

"If  he  was  try  in'  to  do  you  such  a  trick  he 
wouldn't  leave  the  nuggets  in  the  safe." 

At  that  she  burst  into  tears.  "  You're  against 
me!"  she  cried;  "just  like  the  other  day.  You've 
got  your  favourites,  and  you  don't  show  justice — • 
not  a  bit  of  justice!  When  anybody  does  something 
wrong,  you're  always  ready  to  protect  'em  and  make 
excuses,  and  keep  'em  from  being  punished,  instead 
of  getting  the  law  on  'em.  I  tell  you  what  this 
town  needs ;  it  needs  a  new  Judge !  " 

Now  the  blood  mounted  to  his  face.  "  That's 
pretty  rough  on  me,"  he  said.  "  Wai,  Mrs.  Luce, 
I'll  be  outen  here  just  as  soon  as  I  can  manage  it. 
Y'know  " — with  almost  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes — "  I'm 
aimin'  to  be  District  Attorney  of  Shasta  County, 
Sooperior  Judge,  Rep'esentative  from  this  district, 
Gov'nor  of  Californy,  Senator  to  Washington,  an' 
President  of  the  United  States." 

"  You'll  be  back  driving  stage  if  you  treat  other 
people  like  you're  treating  me." 

"  Whenever  a  man  makes  a  first  mistake  I  like  to 
encourage  him,"  he  explained.  "  I  allus  do  what  I 
can — an'  keep  inside  the  law.  Now,  please,  Mrs. 
Luce,  let  me  git  this  misunderstandin'  cleared  up. 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  29 

'  Gid'll  settle  things  fair,'  you  said  the  other  day. 
So  you  go  home,  an'  don't  say  a  word  to  nobody. 
If  any  of  the  women  folks  ask  you  w'y  you  been 
cryin',  tell  'em  you  been  cuttin'  up  onions."  He 
tried  to  smile. 

"  No,  sir ! "  She  rose  angrily.  "  I  won't  go 
home,  and  I  won't  lie  to  shield  Homer  Scott.  I'll 
go  up  and  down  Main  Street,  and  tell  everybody 
what  he's  done,  and  how  you're  acting  about  it.  I'll 
have  my  revenge,  anyhow.  I'll  break  off  his  match 
with  Alicia  Clay." 

Now  the  Judge  rose,  pressing  down  on  the  arms 
of  his  chair  to  lift  himself,  and  a  queer  trembling — 
almost  a  spasm — crossed  his  face.  "  Alicia !  "  he 
said  under  his  breath.  "  They're  engaged,  then ! 
An'  it'll  hurt  her!" 

"  She'd  better  be  hurt  a  little  now  than  have  her 
heart  broken  later  on.  It's  a  mistake  to  let  a  sweet 
girl  like  that  marry  a  crooked  man." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Luce,  he  ain't  a  crooked  man!  Here 
— I  want  to  be  square  t'  you,  too.  If  you  git  him 
arrested  without  cause,  you  can  be  sued.  Let's 
talk  this  over  some  more."  He  took  her  arm 
gently. 

She  sat  down,  wiping  at  her  cheeks. 

"  First  of  all,"  he  began,  as  he  resumed  his  own 
seat,  "  did  anybody  see  you  give  Homer  the  nug 
gets?" 

"  No." 

"  Did  you  tell  anybody  before  you  took  'em  down 
that  he  was  goin'  to  hold  'em  as  security?  " 

"  I  didn't  want  anybody  to  find  out  I  was  bor 
rowing." 


30  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  And  you  two  was  alone,  I  s'pose,  when  he  took 
'em  and  give  you  the  money?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  it's  just  your  word  against  his?  " 

"You  see?     You  don't  believe  me!" 

"  I'm  askin'  you  a  question." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  my  word  against  his." 

"You  told  the  constable  about  it?" 

"  Yes ;  and  he  pretty  near  laughed  in  my  face. 
Never  mind.  I'll  take  this  case  to  the  county  seat." 

"  The  law  reads  the  same  at  the  county  seat  as  it 
does  here,  Mrs.  Luce.  Say  I  give  you  a  warrant. 
Bert  serves  it.  Homer  lands  in  jail.  He  says  he 
never  seen  the  nuggets.  You  say  he  has  'em,  but 
you  can't  locate  'em.  What  could  a  jury  do  about 
it?  So — take  a  night  t'  think  it  over." 

She  shook  her  head  decidedly.     "  No." 

"  An'  don't  forgit  it'll  hurt  his  maw,  too,"  urged 
the  Judge.  "  She  ain't  strong  this  summer — mala 
ria,  I  reckon." 

"  I  don't  intend  to  give  him  a  chance  to  skip  on 
that  down  train." 

Once  more  the  Judge  rose  and  began  to  pace  the 
floor,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  his  chin  on  his 
breast.  One  minute  passed,  and  Mrs.  Luce  sat 
quietly.  But  when  another  went  by  she  settled  her 
hat  preparatory  to  leaving  and  tucked  some  stray 
wisps  of  hair  into  place. 

At  that  the  Judge  returned  to  his  desk.  There 
was  no  fear  in  the  grey  eyes  now,  and  his  manner 
was  resolute,  even  cheerful.  "  All  right,"  he  said 
almost  briskly.  "  I'm  a-goin'  to  do  what  you  ask. 
A-course,  I'd  like  to  have  the  case  rest  easy  for  a 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  31 

few  hours,  so's  I  could  find  out  one  or  two  things 
on  the  q.  t.  But " — putting  several  articles  to 
rights  on  his  desk — "  that  ain't  possible.  I'll  have 
to  ask  you  to  write  me  out  a  statement." 

"  Got  to  have  one,  Judge  ?" 

"  Shore.  Allus  got  to  have  a  statement  of  ev'ry 
case.  Would  you  mind  goin'  into  the  jail  office  to 
write  it?  There's  some  private  business  to  attend 
to  in  here.  It's  cool  in  the  jail  office,  an'  you'll  have 
the  hull  place  to  yourself.  But  be  awful  certain 
about  one  thing,  Mrs.  Luce." 

"  What's  that?  "     She  looked  a  little  startled. 

He  led  the  way  out  of  the  rear  door  of  the  court 
room  and  around  to  the  back  entrance  of  the  jail. 
"  Don't  leave  out  nothin',"  he  counseled.  "  Take 
plenty  of  time  to  git  the  statement  ready.  I  won't 
break  in  on  you  more'n  I  can  help." 

"  I've  got  some  things  on  the  line  at  home  that 
ought  to  come  in  before  noon.  They'll  fade." 

"Your  nuggets  is  more  important,  though. 
Don't  you  want  everything  settled  before  that  down 
train?  Here — write  at  this  table.  I  come  in  here 
when  I  don't  want  nobody  to  find  me.  Here's  pen 
an'  ink  an'  paper." 

"  I'll  use  a  pencil  if  you  don't  mind." 

"  No ;  statements  allus  got  to  be  writ  in  ink.  An' 
make  as  nice  a  copy  as  you  can." 

He  left  her,  closing  the  door  softly  behind  him. 
Outside,  he  drew  a  key  from  his  pocket,  noiselessly 
fitted  it  into  tflb  lock  and  turned  it.  Then  he  re- 
entered  the  courtroom  on  a  run,  lifted  one  edge  of 
the  flag,  disclosing  a  telephone,  rang  the  bell  twice, 
listened,  rang  it  again,  asked  for  his  number  in  a 


32  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

low  voice,  and  when  the  reply  came  began  to  speak 
with  decision :  "  Homer,  this  is  Gid.  Run  up  for 
a  minute.  Yas,  it's  important.  I  must  see  you. 
Can't  tell  you  over  the  'phone.  But  don't  you  wait 
— come.  All  right.*'  Then  he  hung  up,  rang  for  a 
second  number — the  constable's — gave  some  quick 
directions  and,  having  drawn  the  flag  into  place  over 
the  telephone,  sat  down. 

He  waited,  bowed  over  in  his  chair,  with  his  elbows 
upon  the  arms  of  it,  and  his  head  supported  by  his 
hands.  But  when  the  rickety  sidewalk  gave  warn 
ing  of  an  oncomer  he  straightened,  and  smiled  in 
welcome  as  Homer  entered  the  door.  "  Wai,  here 
you  are,"  he  said  by  way  of  salutation. 

Homer  flung  himself  into  a  chair  before  the  Judge's 
desk,  fanning  himself  with  his  hat.  His  thin 
face  was  tense,  like  the  face  of  a  man  under  a 
strain. 

"Boy,  this  is  what  I  want  to  say:  Don't  josh 
Mrs.  Luce." 

Homer  crimsoned.  His  hat  fell  to  his  knee. 
"  Mrs.  Luce  is  crazy !  "  he  burst  forth. 

"  She's  been  tellin'  me  how  you  hung  on  to  her 
nuggets.  Give  'em  back  to  her,  boy.  She's  got  a 
bad  tongue." 

"  Her  nuggets  !  What  does  she  mean  ?  She  needs 
her  brain  examined." 

"  You  ain't  got  'em,  Homer?  " 

"  Of  course  I  haven't  got  'em.  I  don't  believe 
she  ever  had  any.  Did  you  ever  see  'em?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  on  earth  could  I  do  with  a  string  of  nug 
gets  ?  "  His  chest  heaved  angrily. 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  33 

"  Good  collateral,"  said  the  Judge,  "  case  a  man 
needed  money." 

"  I  don't  need  money."  He  said  it  sullenly,  and 
shifted  in  his  chair. 

"  Come  to  me  when  you  do,  boy." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  elder  man  sat, 
his  grave  look  fixed  on  the  younger,  who  crossed  and 
uncrossed  his  feet  and  wiped  at  his  forehead  and  neck 
with  a  folded  silk  handkerchief. 

"  How's  your  work  comin'  ?  "  inquired  the  Judge 
presently.  He  took  up  a  pen  and  began  to  write. 

"  Oh,  pretty  good." 

"  I  reckon  Mister  Fruit-Buyer  is  satisfied,  hey? 
He  couldn't  find  a  better  man  than  you  for  the  place, 
anyhow." 

"Oh,  he's  satisfied,  I  guess.  But  I  don't  think 
I — I  care  to  hang  on  to  the  job." 

"  No?  "  The  Judge  thrust  a  sheet  of  paper  into 
a  pocket.  "  How  long's  Carpenter  stayin'  over  this 
time?" 

"Till  the  down  train." 

"  That  so  ?  Wai !  "  He  paused  a  moment,  ex 
amining  the  end  of  his  pen.  "  Say,  you  don't  wear 
your  Business  College  medal  no  more." 

"  I  carry  it  in  my  pocket." 

"  I  see.  Got  it  now?  I  like  to  take  a  peep  at 
it  ev'ry  once  in  a  while." 

The  younger  man  reached  into  a  vest  pocket  and 
drew  forth  a  small  silver  piece,  shield-shaped  and 
engraved.  He  handed  it  across  the  desk. 

"  It's  mighty  pretty,"  said  the  Judge,  holding  it 
up.  He  rose,  still  looking  at  it.  "  Must  'a'  cost 
something  too.  Excuse  me  a  minute."  He  went  to 


34  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

the  front  door,  looked  out,  opened  it,  disappeared 
for  a  moment  and  then  entered  again. 

His  hands  were  deep  in  his  trousers'  pockets  now, 
and  as  he  talked  he  walked  to  and  fro.  "  Homer," 
he  said,  "  you're  right  about  not  hangin'  on  to  that 
fruit  job.  I  think  you  oughta  begin  to  plan  on 
goin'  into  business  for  your  own  self.  You'll  want 
t'  settle  down  soon  an'  have  a  little  home.  I'd  like 
to  help  you  out  on  it,  'cause  I've  got  your  good  at 
heart,  boy.  You  could  build  right  on  that  lot  of 
your  maw's.  It's  a  big  lot.  An'  then  about  a  good, 
payin'  business  for  you — I've  got  two  or  three  ideas 
I'd  like  to  propose.  (Y'  see,  I'm  in  a  gassy  mood 
t'day.)  Now,  the  first  idea  is  like  this " 

Five  minutes  passed;  then  five  more,  and  still  the 
Judge  talked  on.  Homer  listened  without  raising 
his  eyes. 

At  last  the  rattle  of  a  board  in  the  rickety  side 
walk  made  the  Judge  pause.  Once  more  he  went 
to  the  door  and  stepped  outside. 

When  he  came  back  into  the  courtroom  he  walked 
unsteadily,  like  one  suddenly  seized  with  a  sickness. 
He  sat  down,  not  at  his  desk,  but  in  the  chair  next 
to  the  younger  man ;  then  he  reached  out  a  trembling 
hand.  "  Homer,"  he  said  huskily,  "  forgive  me  for 
coming  back  to  that  nugget  business.  It's  made  me 
feel  tumble,  somehow.  Boy,  you  know  I'm  your 
friend,  don't  you?  Now,  let's  have  the  hull  truth 
about  Mrs.  Luce.  Homer  " — he  lifted  a  hand  and 
pointed  to  the  flag — "  look  at  that  an'  tell  me :  Have 
you  got  them  nuggets  ?  "  His  voice  broke  with  its 
pleading. 

Homer  jerked  away  his  hand  and  sprang  to  his 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  35 

feet.  "  Do  you  want  me  to  lie  and  say  I  stole  her 
nuggets  ? "  he  demanded.  "  All  right,  I'll  lie ! 
I'll " 

The  Judge  also  rose.  And  now  his  voice  was  calm 
and  cold.  "I  don't  like  lies,"  he  said.  "And  I 
think  this  matter  has  been  drug  out  far  enough." 
He  reached  into  an  outer  coat  pocket  for  the  medal 
and  handed  it  to  the  other.  Then  he  reached  into 
the  pocket  a  second  time  and  drew  forth — a  string 
of  nuggets. 

Homer's  face  whitened  to  ghastliness,  his  jaw  fell. 
He  retreated,  knocking  over  his  chair  and  backing 
into  the  Judge's  desk.  There  he  hung,  panting. 

"  Oh,  boy !  "  said  the  Judge. 

The  other  strove  to  speak ;  but  his  voice  would  not 
come,  and  the  hands  that  clutched  at  the  desk  were 
shaking. 

"  I  sent  your  medal  to  Carpenter,"  explained  the 
Judge.  "  An'  he  sent  the  string." 

"  Then  he'll  grab  me.  It's  embezzlement.  I 
can't  pay  him  back.  I'll  go  to  jail!" 

"Sh!     I  sent  a  check,  too." 

"For  how  much?  Oh,  Gid!"  The  trembling 
hands  were  lifted  to  cover  his  face. 

"  I  don't  know  how  much,  so  I  just  left  the  check 
blank  an'  sent  word  you'd  forgot  the  exact  amount 
you  owed.  I — I  reckon  my  bank'll  stand  for  a' 
overdraft." 

Now  the  white  face  was  slowly  uncovered  again 
and  the  staring  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  Judge. 
"  Carpenter  came — I  didn't  expect  him — I  told  him 
I  was  short — I  asked  him  to  take  the  nuggets  to  the 
Mint — it  was  the  only  thing " 


36  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Never  once  thought  of  old  Gid?  "  The  Judge 
wiped  at  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  a  hand. 

"  Oh,  you're  too  good  to  me !  "  Now  Homer  broke 
down  and  fell  to  sobbing. 

"  Don't  do  that."  The  elder  laid  a  kind  hand  on 
the  shoulder  of  the  younger.  "  No ;  it's  a-goin'  to 
be  all  right,  boy.  Only  I  won't  spoil  you  no  more, 
you  bet  your  life.  I'll  come  down  tumble  hard  on 
you  if  ever  you  do  this  kind  of  business  again.  You 
just  quit  your  gamblin',  Homer.  If  you  don't  I'll 
never  let  you  marry  Alicia." 

"  She  wouldn't  marry  me,  Gid." 

A  knocking  sounded  from  without,  at  the  rear. 

"What's  that?"  Homer  caught  the  Judge's 
sleeve  in  a  frightened  grasp. 

"  It's  Mrs.  Luce.  I  kept  her  in  there,  writin',  till 
I  could  git  them  nuggets  back.  Now,  you  skip.  Go 
home.  Here's  your  hat.  Stay  there  till  I  come. 
Now,  don't  forgit."  He  hurried  the  other  to  the 
front  door,  opened  it  and  shoved  him  on  to  the  side 
walk.  Then,  with  long  strides,  he  gained  the  rear 
yard. 

"  By  Jingo !  »  he  called  out.  "  Is  that  door  stick- 
in','  Mrs.  Luce?  You're  a  shore  enough  prisoner! 
Wai,  that's  a  good  one !  Never  mind.  Come  along. 
Where's  that  statement?" 

Mrs.  Luce  handed  him  several  sheets  of  foolscap. 
"  I  don't  think  I've  left  anything  out,"  she  said. 
"  Can  you  read  my  awful  writing?  " 

When  they  were  in  the  courtroom,  in  their  former 
places,  the  Judge  laid  the  written  sheets  upon  his 
desk,  leaned  back,  looked  at  her  a  moment  silently, 
and  then  began  to  smile  across  at  her. 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  37 

"  Say !  "  he  said.     "  You  shore  can't  take  a  josh." 

"What  d'  you  mean?" 

"  What  I  said  to  you  when  you  first  come  in. 
How  many  people  did  you  say  you'd  tole?  " 

"  The  constable  and  you." 

"  That's  good.  'Cause  if  you'd  tole  anybody  else 
I'd  have  to  ask  you  to  go  an'  untell  'em." 

Sudden  hope  came  into  her  eyes.  "  Judge !  You 
ain't " 

"  Yas,"  said  the  Judge.  He  dropped  a  big  hand 
into  his  coat  pocket  once  more.  It  came  out,  the 
nuggets  dangling  from  it. 

In  an  instant  she  was  beside  him  and  had  seized 
the  string.  "  Glory ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Now,  I'm  goin'  to  ask  a  favour  of  you,"  said 
the  Judge.  "  It's  this :  Just  forgit  about  the  nug 
gets  an'  Homer.  Will  you?  The  hull  thing  makes 
you  look  silly  an*  wouldn't  help  the  boy." 

"All  right,"  she  promised.  "My,  but  I'm 
happy !  "  She  ran  the  nuggets  through  her  fingers, 
fondling  and  counting  them. 

The  Judge  watched  her  for  a  moment.  Then  his 
face  suddenly  brightened ;  he  smiled  in  his  slow  way. 
"  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  Homer  thought  you  tattled 
to  Alicia  about  him  playin'  cards  with  Jim  at  the 
Occidental." 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  she  admitted  a  little  shamefacedly. 

"  Wai,  he's  got  even  with  you." 

She  moved  away.  "  I'm  glad  he  was  only  jok 
ing,"  she  said.  Then  from  the  door:  "I  wonder 
when  he  and  Alicia'll  marry.  My,  but  they'll  make 
a  fine-looking  couple,  her  so  dark  and  him  so  light! 
Of  course,  I  don't  exactly  favour  these  marriages 


38  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

where  the  groom  and  bride  have  been  acquainted 
with  each  other  for  so  long.  They  get  to  know 
each  other  too  good.  Give  a  woman  something  to 
find  out,  I  say,  so  that  she  can  live  with  her  husband 
two  or  three  years,  anyhow.  Now,  I  met  Jim  one 
week  and  was  married  the  next,  and  it  was  four  years, 
before  we  was  what  you  might  call  fighting." 

"  Oh,  wait,"  said  the  Judge.  "  There's  one  thing 
more.  In  a  case  like  this,  where  a  statement  has 
been  writ  out,  it's  the  rule,  in  law,  for  the  stator 
ess " 

"The  statoress?" 

"  You're  the  statoress  in  this  case.  Y'see,  you 
writ  the  statement.  It's  the  rule  for  her  to  make  a 
second  statement,  appended  to  the  end  of  the  first, 
sayin'  that  the  first  ain't  so." 

"  All  right,  Judge." 

"  I'll  just  write  the  second  statement,  an'  you 
can  sign  it."  He  scribbled  a  few  lines  hastily. 

"  Wish  you'd  wrote  the  first  statement,"  she  said 
enviously,  when  she  had  come  back  and  was  stand 
ing  at  the  desk  once  more.  "  Can't  you  go 
fast!" 

"  That's  because  mine's  a  fountain-pen,"  he  ex 
plained.  "  Here,  sign  right  on  this  line." 

"  An'  say !  "  he  added  as  she  started  away  a  sec 
ond  time,  "  lemme  repeat  what  I  advised  once  before 
— don't  never  give  security,  especially  collateral 
security,  without  you  git  a  receipt,  Mrs.  Luce.  The 
next  feller,  mebbe,  won't  be  jokin'." 

"  I  won't,  Judge,"  she  promised. 

When  she  was  across  the  railroad  track  on  her 
homeward  way  he  went  back  to  his  armchair,  sat 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  39 

down,  laid  his  arms  upon  his  desk  and  his  head 
upon  his  arms. 

Noon  came  and  passed  unnoticed.  The  down 
train  snorted  by,  and  he  did  not  look  up.  Then  the 
long  afternoon  went  slowly.  He  stayed  where  he 
was,  scarcely  moving.  Afternoon  merged  into  twi 
light.  Darkness  crept  into  the  courtroom. 

The  banging  of  the  unfixed  section  of  the  rickety 
sidewalk  roused  the  Judge  at  last.  And  as  the 
loose  boards  nearer  at  hand  flapped  and  creaked 
under  a  light  tread  he  sat  up  and  got  stiffly  to 
his  feet. 

The  knob  of  the  front  door  turned  and  a  slender 
figure  in  white  appeared  in  the  doorway.  Then, 
"  Gid !  "  called  an  anxious  voice — a  girl's  voice. 
"Gid!  Are  you  there?" 

"  Yas,"  answered  the  Judge.  "  I'm  here.  Is 
it — Alicia?" 

"  Gid !  "  she  cried  tremulously ;  "  poor,  poor 
Gid!" 

He  walked  toward  her  slowly.  "  What  you  pore 
Giddin'  me  for?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mrs.  Luce  told  me — about  what  Homer's 
done." 

The  Judge  came  short.  "She  did?  Can't  that 
woman  keep  nothin'  to  herself?  W'y  " — pleadingly 
and  reaching  out  a  hand — "  let  me  explain  before 
you — w'y,  that  boy,  Alicia,  he  only " 

"  Oh,  it  wasn't  a  joke!  "  she  interrupted.  "  Mrs. 
Luce  thinks  it  was.  But  I  know.  Oh,  you  dear  old 
Gid,  you're  trying  to  shield  him.  And  he  doesn't 
deserve  it." 

"  Now,  Alicia,  he  didn't " 


40  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  He  did — and  right  at  a  time  when  it  could  hurt 
your  chance  to  be  district  attorney." 

"District  attorney?"  repeated  the  Judge  and 
laughed — a  little  sadly,  but  bravely.  "  Aw,  wal  t 
I  can  wait  t'  be  district  attorney." 

"  You  see !  It's  so !  It's  so !  He's  taken  your 
money  to  get  himself  out  of  his  trouble!  The  cow 
ard!" 

"  Alicia !  You're  turnm*  on  the  boy !  Pleas^ 
don't  let  a  little  thing  like  this  come  between  you 
an'  Homer." 

"  Between  me  and  Homer !  "  she  exclaimed  in  sur 
prise.  "  What  makes  you  say  that,  Gid?  " 

"  W'y,  you  come  here  that  day  an'  tole  me  about 
him  gamblin',  an*  cried." 

She  laid  a  white  hand  on  his  sleeve.  "  I  knew 
this  whole  thing  was  coming,  Gid,  and  you'd  be  the 
one  to  suffer." 

"  Me?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Homer  Scott !  I  never  did  like  him,  and  I've 
hated  to  see  you  wasting  yourself  on  him.  What 
does  he  care  about  you,  or  your  ambitions,  or  your 
dreams  ?  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment — so  silent  that  he 
seemed  to  be  holding  his  breath.  Then  he  spoke 
gently :  "  There's  only  one  dream  I  got  that  counts. 
An' — an'  I  don't  dare  t'  hope  it  might  come  true." 

Her  face  was  lifted  to  his  almost  appealingly; 
his  eyes  eagerly  searched  hers  in  the  dimness.  Pres 
ently  he  reached  down  and  took  the  hand  that  was 
hanging  at  her  side  and  lifted  it,^  pressing  it  against 
his  breast. 

She  smiled  up  at  him.     And,  little  by  little,  her 


The  Justice  of  Gideon  41 

other  hand  began  to  creep  its  way  to  his  shoulder. 
There  it  rested,  and  she  whispered  to  him  softly: 
"Gid!  Dear  Gid!" 

A  smothered  cry  of  great  happiness  answered 
her.  The  next  moment  he  dropped  her  hand  and 
his  arms  went  out,  sweeping  her  slender  figure  to 
him. 


DOC 

IT  WAS  a  long-distance  call  and  the  voice  was 
a  man's,  impatient,  peremptory  and  curiously 
unsteady :  "  Hello !  Hello  !  Hello !  I  say !  Is 
this  Doctor  Hunter?  " 

"  Yas,  this  is  me,"  answered  the  doctor,  making 
an  arc  of  his  stalwart  length  as  he  leaned  down  to 
the  receiver  on  his  table ;  "  this  is  Hunter." 

"  This  is  the  Blue  Top  Mine — the  Blue  Top.  Do 
you  understand?  We  want  you  up  here." 

"  The  Blue  Top!  "  repeated  the  doctor.  And  of 
a  sudden  his  boyish  face  grew  eager.  "  All  right. 
What  kind  of  a  case  is  it?  " 

"  Never  mind — come.     Get  a  good  horse." 

"  But  look  a-here,"  expostulated  the  doctor.  "  Is 
it  surgical?  I'd  like  to  know  just  what  to  bring." 

"  Come  prepared  for  anything.  Can  you  hear 
me?  This  is  Eastman." 

"Oh — Mr.  Eastman."  The  doctor  fell  back  a 
little,  then,  still  holding  the  receiver  to  his  ear  with 
one  hand,  hastily  smoothed  at  his  hair  with  the 
other — as  if  to  make  himself  more  presentable  for 
his  conversation  with  the  distant  speaker.  "  I'll 
start  in  fifteen  minutes,"  he  promised. 

"  Good-bye."     The  line  closed. 

The  doctor  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  He  reached 
one  long  arm  out  for  the  coat  hanging  on  the  back 
of  his  office  chair,  the  other  for  his  wide,  soft  hat. 

42 


Doc  43 

Then  he  caught  up  a  canvas  case  that  held  both 
medicines  and  instruments,  and  hurried  out. 

Half  a  block  up  the  street  was  a  low,  flower-cov 
ered  cottage  that  stood  among  wide-spreading  fig 
trees.  There  was  a  strip  of  clover  lawn  before  the 
little  house.  He  halted  when  he  reached  it,  and 
took  off  his  hat.  "  Oh,  Miss  Letty !  "  he  called. 

The  fig  trees  formed  a  dense  screen  against  the 
noon  heat.  Under  one  was  a  girl,  bareheaded  and 
barearmed,  with  a  half-filled  basket  of  the  purple 
fruit  at  her  feet.  As  the  doctor  spoke  she  turned 
and  came  toward  him  swiftly  across  the  clover.  She 
was  tall,  nearly  as  tall  as  he,  and  the  great  knot 
of  crisp  and  dusky  hair  on  her  small  head  added  to 
her  slender  height.  Her  eyes  were  like  her 
hair — dark  and  shining.  They  made  vivid  con 
trast  with  the  clear  paleness  of  her  cheek  and 
throat. 

"  You're  going  out  of  town,"  she  said,  with  a 
glance  at  the  canvas-case. 

"  What  do  you  think !  "  he  answered,  his  face 
flushing  with  pleasure.  "  They  want  me  at  Blue 
Top!" 

She  stopped.  "  The  regular  mine  doctor  left  last 
week.  They'll  have  to  have  somebody  in  his  place. 
Maybe "  Her  eyes  questioned  his. 

"  It  was  Eastman  'phoned  me."  He  said  it 
proudly. 

"  The  owner  of  the  mine !  " 

" '  We  want  you  up  here  '  is  what  he  said.  And 

c  Come  prepared  for  anything.'  But  a-course " 

It  was  his  turn  to  break  off.  His  grey  eyes  were 
anxious. 


44  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  They  want  you  to  stay ! "  she  declared  ex 
citedly.  "  Won't  that  be  splendid !  Now  you'll  be 
able  to  buy  all  the  books  you've  been  wanting.  You 
know,  they  give  a  good  salary  at  Blue  Top,  and — 
and  house  rent  free."  A  wave  of  colour  swept  her 
face  then,  tinting  it  a  delicate  rose. 

He  had  come  nearer  her.  "  It'd  mean  more'n 
books  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You're  the  best  doctor  in  the  country ;  that's 
why  they've  sent  for  you.  But  what'll  this  town 
do  without  you?  "  She  smiled  up  at  him,  forget 
ting  her  embarrassment.  "  Every  baby  in  the 
place'll  miss  '  Doc'." 

Like  a  man  who  is  summoning  his  courage  he  set 
his  teeth  together  for  a  moment  and  took  a  deep 
breath.  Then :  "  The  part  of  the  town  that  I  like 
best  I  want  to  take  with  me,"  he  said,  his  tone 
significant. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  She  retreated  a 
step,  her  face  rosier  than  before.  He  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  earnestly  on  her  lowered  lashes,  waiting  for 
them  to  rise. 

"  I've — I've  wanted  to  ask  you  before,  Letty — 
lots  of  times.  But  I  couldn't  as  long  as  I  knowed 
I'd  have  to  take  you  to  a  boardin'-house ;  I've  waited 
till  I  thought  I  could  see  a  home  in  sight.  If  this 

comes  true— "  He  reached  out  a  big,  sunburned 

hand  and  touched  her  slender  one  where  it  hung  at 
her  side. 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  they  were  misty  with 
hope.  "  Do  your  level  best  at  the  mine !  "  she  half 
whispered. 

"  Letty — you  care !  "     He  let  her  hand  fall,  for 


Doc  45 

his  own  was  trembling.  "  Oh,  you  bet  I'll  do  my 
best.  This  is  my  chance.  I'm  bankin'  on  it." 

"  Take  my  horse  for  the  trip.  Bobby  wasn't 
out  of  the  barn  yesterday,  and  I'm  pickling  figs 
to-day.  Please  do." 

"  All  right,  I'll  be  glad  to." 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  he  rode  out  of  the 
corral,  canvas  case  tight-strapped  to  his  back,  he  was 
mounted  on  a  spirited  little  mustang  whose  bright 
eyes  watched  through  a  bushy  forelock.  The  gate 
was  left  in  a  rushing  gallop.  And  from  down  the 
street,  where  the  doctor  turned  into  the  Blue  Top 
road,  he  waved  a  hand  back  to  Letty.  Then  he 
cantered  on. 

It  was  fifteen  miles  to  the  mine,  all  up  grade  and 
rough  going.  But  Bobby  kept  a  quick  pace;  and 
his  rider,  fixing  his  look  hopefully  ahead,  gave  no 
thought  to  the  road.  Two  things  ran  constantly 
in  the  doctor's  mind :  "  We  want  you  up  here  " 
and  "  Come  prepared  for  anything."  The  more  he 
thought  of  the  statements  the  more  he  felt  certain 
about  the  success  of  his  trip.  They  surely  meant 
him  to  remain  at  the  mine.  That  was  why  he  had 
been  asked  to  bring  as  much  of  his  equipment  as 
possible. 

"Halt!" 

It  was  Bobby  who  obeyed  the  command.  Out  of 
the  thick  brush  that  lined  the  grade  had  stepped 
three  men,  blocking  his  way.  The  trio  carried 
rifles  across  their  arms. 

"  Who  are  you? "  demanded  one  of  the  three. 
He  was  a  smooth-shaven,  thick-set,  middle-aged  man 
with  hard,  milky-blue  eyes  and  soft,  fat  cheeks  that 


46  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

pouched  heavily,  drawing  his  under  lids  down  to 
show  a  scarlet  lining. 

"  Doctor." 

"  Oh !— I  see.  Good  work."  The  thick-set  man 
fell  back  a  step  and  gave  a  sidewise  jerk  of  the 
head.  It  was  permission  to  ride  on.  Then  he  led 
his  companions  across  the  road  and  into  the 
chaparral. 

A  moment  later  the  doctor  forgot  the  occurrence. 
The  road  divided,  and  he  turned  into  the  less  used 
one  of  the  two.  Rounding  a  sharp  turn  in  it  he 
came  in  sight  of  a  tiny,  shingled  bungalow  built 
upon  a  spot  that  had  been  made  level  by  digging 
into  the  side  of  the  mountain.  This  was  the  resi 
dence  of  the  regular  physician  at  the  mine.  It  was 
vacant  now,  and  through  the  uncurtained  window 
he  could  see  the  pretty  living-room,  with  its  low, 
raftered  ceiling  and  its  great  fireplace  of  stone. 

"  Oh,  if  this  only  comes  true !  "  he  said  aloud. 
Already  he  pictured  Letty's  face  at  the  win 
dow. 

At  the  side  porch  of  the  superintendent's  house 
he  dismounted  quickly,  dropped  the  briddle-reins  to 
the  ground  and  sprang  up  the  steps,  unbuckling 
his  case  as  he  went. 

A  Chinese  in  spotless  white  answered  his  ring  and, 
without  a  question,  went  pattering  away  to  a  closed 
door  at  the  end  of  a  long  hall,  where  he  paused  and 
knocked  softly. 

A  man  opened  the  door.  He  was  perhaps  thirty- 
five,  with  the  bearing  that  marks  the  city-bred.  But 
his  dress  was  dishevelled,  his  haggard  face  showed 
a  one-d<ay's  growth  of  beard,  and  his  eyes  were 


Doc  47 

hollow,  as  if  from  sickness,  and  bloodshot.  "  Is  this 
Doctor  Hunter?  "  he  questioned,  whispering. 

"  Yas,  sir." 

"  My  name  is  Eastman."  He  motioned  the  doctor 
to  enter. 

In  the  darkened  room  there  was  discernible  only 
the  outlines  of  a  bed,  upon  which  some  one  was  toss 
ing.  The  patient  was  moaning,  too,  and  hoarsely 
repeating  a  name:  "Laurie!  Laurie!  Laurie! 
Laurie !  "  The  tone  was  insistent  and  full  of  an 
guished  appeal. 

The  doctor  went  to  the  bedside.  The  face  on 
the  pillow  was  that  of  a  young  woman — a  woman 
of  perhaps  twenty-five.  It  was  a  face  that  reminded 
him  of  Letty's.  There  was  the  same  delicate  out 
line  of  cheek  and  chin,  the  same  full,  sweet  mouth 
and  girlish  throat.  But  the  dark  head  was  moving 
from  side  to  side  with  each  repeating  of  the  name, 
and  the  dark  eyes  were  staring  wildly.  As  he  leaned 
down  she  turned  them  full  upon  him. 

"  Laurie !  Laurie !  Laurie !  "  she  entreated. 

"  Nervous  shock,"  said  the  doctor.  He  lifted  a 
white  wrist.  It  was  rigid  and  the  pulse  hard.  The 
hand  was  knotted,  too,  and  shook  with  its  very  tense 
ness.  "  What  put  her  into  this  shape?  " 

Eastman  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  began  to 
walk  the  room.  Presently  he  halted  behind  the 
doctor.  "  Mrs.  Eastman  is — is  worried,"  he  ex 
plained. 

"  Wai,  I  should  judge  so,"  remarked  the  doctor 
coldly.  He  laid  an  open  hand  upon  the  sick  woman's 
forehead  to  quiet  the  constant  wagging.  "  How 
long's  she  been  like  this?  " 


48  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Twenty-four  hours.  Give  her  something  to 
make  her  sleep.  She'll  go  crazy." 

"  In  a  case  like  this  you  got  to  remove  the  cause." 
The  doctor  spoke  severely.  The  whole  thing  looked 
bad  to  him. 

Eastman  made  no  answer,  but  left  the  room,  for 
the  Chinese  had  summoned  him  noiselessly  from  the 
door. 

Left  alone,  the  doctor  prepared  an  opiate  and 
administered  one  draught  of  it,  after  which  he  took 
a  chair  beside  the  bed  and  again  lifted  a  tense  wrist. 
Presently  Mrs.  Eastman  ceased  to  murmur  her  heart 
broken  plaint.  Her  clenched  fingers  relaxed  their 
hold  on  the  counterpane.  Then  the  strained  lids  of 
the  sufferer  fluttered  down. 

When  she  was  breathing  deep  and  regularly,  with 
a  peaceful  smile  on  the  sweet  mouth  and  her  hands 
folded  on  her  breast,  he  leaned  back.  And,  looking 
at  her,  his  thoughts  returned  to  Letty  and  to  the 
tiny  bird's-nest  of  a  house  perched  below  in  a  niche 
of  the  mountain.  He  could  see  a  strong  young  figure 
going  to  and  fro  through  the  cozy  rooms;  himself 
beside  a  wood  fire,  with  his  books  about  him.  Spring 
came  a  trifle  later  here  on  the  tilted  crown  of  Blue 
Top,  fall  arrived  a  little  early,  which  meant  many 
evenings  cool  enough  for  a  cheery  blaze.  And  if 
the  mine  was  off  the  line  of  the  railroad,  that  did 
not • 

Eastman  entered  hurriedly,  leaving  the  door  open 
behind  him. 

The  doctor  rose,  the  look  of  day-dreaming  still 
in  his  eyes.  "  She's  quiet,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"What  else  can  I  attend  to  up  here?" 


Doc  49 

"  This  is  all."  As  Eastman  answered  his  own 
look  was  averted.  "  Our  new  physician's  due  to-day 
— Doctor  Fowler,  of  San  Francisco." 

"  I — I  see."  A  surge  of  red  deepened  the  tan 
on  the  doctor's  face.  "  I  s'pose  you  won't  need  me 
no  more." 

"  How  much  do  I  owe  you?  "  There  was  dis 
missal  in  Eastman's  tone. 

The  other  closed  the  canvas  case  and  picked  up 
his  hat.  Then  he  leaned  over  the  sleeper  for  a  mo 
ment.  When  he  started  slowly  toward  the  door  the 
spring  was  gone  from  his  step.  He  seemed  not  to 
have  heard  the  question. 

"Will  ten  be  satisfactory?"  Eastman  had  run 
a  hand  into  a  pocket.  Now  he  held  a  goldpiece. 

The  doctor  turned.  A  troubled  light  was  in  the 
grey  eyes.  "  Five'd  be  a  fair  charge  for  Blue  Top," 
he  said.  As  the  smaller  coin  was  proffered  him  he 
took  it,  bowed  and  went  out. 

Some  one  followed  him — he  did  not  look  back  to 
see  who.  But  as  he  reached  the  front  door  his  eyes 
fell  upon  a  photograph  that  lay  on  a  table  beside 
the  hatrack.  It  was  the  photograph  of  a  child — - 
a  handsome,  fair-haired  little  boy  in  gingham 
rompers,  standing  on  a  garden  path  amid  chrys 
anthemums  that  reached  above  his  tumbled  curls. 
"Is  that  your  baby?"  asked  the  doctor,  and,  with 
the  inquiry,  turned  to  the  one  behind. 

It  was  not  Eastman,  but  the  Chinese  servant  who 
had  followed  him  out.  As  he  opened  the  door  he 
made  no  reply. 

Bobby  was  waiting  dutifully  at  the  steps;  and 
when  he  was  headed  down  the  mountain  he  went 


50  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

single-footing  away  eagerly,  his  bit-chains  rattling 
with  his  swaying  gait.  But  the  doctor  rode  with  his 
chin  on  his  breast  and  his  soft  hat  pulled  to  his 
brows.  And  when  a  bend  in  the  road  brought  the 
shingled  bungalow  near,  instead  of  looking  at  it 
he  turned  his  face  toward  the  long,  level  valley.  In 
the  distance,  on  the  tree-strewn  river-bottom,  was 
a  cluster  of  white  specks — the  town  he  had  left  in 
the  early  afternoon.  He  had  come  from  it  hope 
fully:  he  was  returning  unsuccessful.  But  his  jaw 
was  set  resolutely. 

It  was  past  sundown  when  he  reined  at  the  gate 
leading  to  Bobby's  corral.  Letty  had  seen  him  ride 
up.  Now  she  came  hurrying  across  the  garden  to 
ward  him.  "  Is  it  good  news?  "  she  called. 

He  was  down  and  standing  beside  his  horse.  "  I 
counted  my  chickens  ahead  of  time,"  he  answered, 
and  smiled  ruefully.  "  They're  gittin'  a  city  doc 
for  Blue  Top." 

As  he  slipped  off  saddle  and  bridle  she  stood  in 
silence,  her  eyes  on  the  ground.  But  when  he  came 
over  and  paused  beside  her  she  looked  up  at  him 
bravely,  for  all  the  tears  on  her  lashes.  "  Never 
mind  about  Blue  Top,"  she  said.  "  Think  what  a 
fine  doctor  you  are  now.  And  you're  so  young.  If 
you  go  on  with  your  studying " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what's  the  matter  with  me,"  he  said 
very  earnestly.  "  I  cure,  don't  I  ?  But  I  don't 
dress  good  enough.  I  don't  know  how  to  talk.  And 
I  ain't  one  of  them  stylish,  top-buggy  physicians." 
He  looked  up  the  street  to  his  own  gate.  A  man  had 
pulled  up  before  it — a  queer-looking  individual 
mounted  on  a  raw-boned  mule  and  wearing  a  long, 


Doc  51 

tan  linen  duster  and  a  black  slouch  hat.  "  The 
fact  is,"  he  went  on,  "  I'm  not  Doctor  Hunter. 
That's  it.  I'm  just  «  Doc.'  " 

The  man  on  the  mule  was  advancing  toward  them. 
Letty  hastened  to  inquire  about  Blue  Top.  "  You 
didn't  tell  me  who  was  sick  at  the  mine,"  she  re 
minded. 

"  Mrs.  Eastman.     But — she  wasn't  sick." 

"  She  wasn't  sick?  "    Letty  raised  a  puzzled  face. 

"  Just  unhappy.  Eastman  didn't  say  what  about. 
But  her  poor  heart's  a-breakinV 

The  man  on  the  mule  pulled  up  for  a  second  time, 
near  by.  "  Are  you  Doc  Hunter?  "  he  demanded. 
The  voice  sounded  muffled. 

"  I'm  the  Doc." 

"  A  friend  of  mine  is  sick — out  of  town  here  a 
little  ways." 

"  Take  Bobby  again,"  Letty  urged  in  an  under 
tone.  "  You  know  how  tough  he  is.  He  won't 
mind,  if  the  trip  is  short." 

"  But  he  ain't  had  his  feed,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  I'll  tie  some  oats  to  the  saddle." 

As  she  hurried  off  the  doctor  went  up  to  the  man 
on  the  mule.  "  What  kind  of  a  case  is  it?  "  he  in 
quired,  and  noticed  that  the  stranger  had  a  hand 
kerchief  tied  under  his  jaws  and  over  his  ears. 

"  That's  what  I  expect  you  to  tell  me."  There 
was  a  note  of  sneering  in  the  retort. 

"  I  mean,  is  it  surgical?  "  explained  the  other. 

"  Well,  suppose  you  come  fixed  so's  you'll  be  ready 
for  any  kind  of  a  case." 

The  doctor  stared.  It  was  Eastman's  reply — 
with  a  different  wording.  And  the  coincidence 


52  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

seemed  a  strange  one.  Then:  "You'd  better  let 
me  do  somethin'  for  that  toothache,"  he  said 
kindly. 

"  Oh,  it  don't  amount  to  anything,"  was  the  short 
answer. 

The  doctor  had  not  unbuckled  his  case.  Now  he 
crossed  the  corral  to  Bobby  and  picked  up  bridle 
and  saddle. 

The  stranger  led  the  way  out  of  town,  hurrying 
his  mule  forward  with  voice,  switch  and  heels,  and 
taking  the  main  traveled  road  that  led  south  beside 
the  railroad  track.  Night  was  already  settling,  and 
to  the  left  the  scattered  shafts  of  a  cemetery 
gleamed  white  through  the  gathering  dusk.  Be 
yond  the  cemetery,  where  a  dim  road  branched  east 
ward  across  the  rails  toward  the  river,  the  guide 
drew  up  and  dismounted  and  busied  himself  for  a 
moment  with  the  bridle  of  his  mule.  The  doctor 
also  reined  and  waited. 

Presently  his  companion  came  walking  back,  leav 
ing  the  mule  tied  to  the  railroad  fence.  "  Doc," 
he  began,  putting  one  hand  on  Bobby's  bridle  and 
the  other  on  the  doctor's  knee,  "  don't  misunder 
stand  what  I'm  going  to  say  to  you." 

"  Yas?  What's  that?  "  Of  a  sudden  the  doctor 
felt  dislike  and  suspicion. 

"  Where  I'm  going,"  continued  the  man  delib 
erately,  "  you'll  have  to  travel  blindfolded." 

The  doctor  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Again 
he  was  staring  at  the  other,  not  so  startled  as  he 
was  amazed  at  this,  the  second  queer  call  in  a  single 
day !  Before  he  had  finished  puzzling  over  the  half- 
crazed  woman  at  Blue  Top  and  the  trio  of  armed 


Doc  53 

men  who  had  halted  him,  here  was  another  mystery. 
Was  the  county  gone  mad? 

"  You've  barked  up  the  wrong  tree,  Mister,"  he 
said  finally,  looking  into  the  small  eyes  that  were 
glinting  up  at  him.  "  I've  got  just  five  dollars  with 
me.  Let  me  show  y'."  He  reached  into  a  pocket. 
"  That  ain't  worth  cuttin'  my  throat  for." 

A  boisterous  laugh  greeted  this.  Then :  "  Cut 
your  throat!  Why,  I'm  not  after  money.  I  want 
a  doctor.  And  I'm  going  to  have  a  doctor."  Still 
holding  to  Bobby's  rein  the  stranger  reached  down 
and  patted  his  right  thigh.  "  I've  never  heard  of 
taking  a  doctor  to  a  sick  man  at  the  end  of  a  gun," 
he  added,  "  but  if  you  hold  back  that's  the  way  I'll 
take  you.  Get  down." 

The  doctor   dismounted. 

"  Turn  around,"  was  the  next  order. 

As  the  doctor  obeyed  a  large,  soft  handkerchief 
was  laid  across  his  eyes  and  bound  tight. 

He  climbed  back  into  his  saddle  then,  and  found 
his  stirrups.  But  as  he  picked  up  his  rein  once  more 
he  felt  his  hands  gripped  in  a  firm  hold  and  brought 
forward  to  the  pommel. 

"  I'll  tie  your  wrists  now,"  said  his   companion. 

The  doctor  straightened  and  jerked  his  arms  to 
his  sides.  "  You  don't  need  to,"  he  declared.  "  I'll 
let  my  eyes  alone." 

"  Put  out  your  hands  !  "  came  the  stern   command. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  comply. 

When  they  moved  on  again  the  doctor  sat  with 
every  faculty  on  the  alert,  determined  to  discover 
which  way  they  were  travelling.  But  first  they 
circled  two  or  three  times,  then  took  a  zigzag  course. 


54  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

And  after  so  much  forethought  on  his  guide's  part 
the  doctor  was  completely  turned  around.  So  that, 
starting  forward  finally  along  a  comparatively 
straight  course,  he  did  not  know  in  what  direction 
they  were  headed.  Soon  he  forgot  to  note  any  veer 
ing  to  right  or  left.  A  feeling  of  intense  nausea 
came  over  him,  caused  by  the  sway  of  his  horse  and 
his  inability  to  see. 

The  going  was  smooth  enough  for  the  first  half 
hour.  Afterward  it  became  rough,  when  they  ceased 
to  canter,  even  over  short  distances.  At  the  end  of 
the  first  long  hour  they  wound  down  a  steep  and 
evidently  narrow  path.  This  brought  them  to  rush 
ing  water,  which  they  crossed  when  the  mule  and 
Bobby  had  drunk.  Then  a  long  climb  began — to 
level  ground  again.  At  last  a  sharp  turn  was  made 
to  the  left.  Once  more  they  descended.  Then  came 
a  halt. 

"  Get  down,"  said  the  guide. 

"  I  will  when  you  let  loose  my  hands,"  returned 
the  doctor  crossly.  "  This  is  a  dickens  of  a  way  to 
treat  a  white  man !  " 

When  he  was  down  and  his  eyes  were  unbound 
he  saw  that  they  were  in  the  bottom  of  a  deep  canon, 
for  on  either  side  of  him,  against  the  lighter  back 
ground  of  the  sky,  was  the  black,  pine-topped  line 
of  a  ridge.  There  was  a  small  clearing  in  the  canon, 
circled  by  a  wall  of  underbrush,  and  at  the  centre 
of  the  clearing  a  squat  shanty,  beyond  which  showed 
a  patch  of  light  from  a  window  on  its  farther 
side. 

Bridles  were  taken  off  and  girths  loosened.  Then 
the  doctor  folded  down  the  top  of  the  feed-sack  so 


Doc  55 

that  Bobby  could  eat,  and  left  the  little  horse  de 
vouring  his  oats. 

Now  the  two  men  made  toward  the  shanty  and 
silently  entered  a  small,  low  room  lighted  by  a  single 
kerosene  lamp.  The  walls  of  the  room  were  of  rough 
pine  boards,  smoke-stained;  the  ceiling  was  of  black 
ened  cheesecloth  that  sagged  low  overhead.  There 
was  a  rough  board  table  beside  the  door,  and  two 
benches,  as  unplaned  as  the  table,  for  seats.  A 
small  stove  stood  in  one  corner,  rusted  by  the  rain 
that  had  trickled  down  upon  it  from  the  pipe-open 
ing  in  the  roof ;  against  a  wall  stood  a  bed  of  boards 
— a  bed  only  wide  enough  for  one  person.  Upon  it, 
under  a  grey  blanket,  lay  a  figure. 

The  doctor  picked  up  the  lamp,  crossed  to  the 
bedside,  and  let  the  light  shine  down  upon  his  pa* 
tient — a  man  not  more  than  twenty-eight  years  of 
age.  The  fevered  face  was  ugly,  almost  apelike; 
the  forehead  bulged,  the  cheek-bones  were  high,  the 
nose  so  flat  that  the  nostrils  were  two  wide,  black 
holes ;  and  the  mouth  was  full  and  coarse.  The 
doctor  recoiled  as  he  looked,  and  turned  to  the  man 
standing  at  his  shoulder. 

He  saw  a  face  that  he  liked  still  less — eyes  small 
and  deep  set,  and  overhung  with  heavy,  coarse  brows  ; 
a  nose  lean  and  high  and  twisted  so  far  out  of  line 
that  it  made  a  left  obtuse  angle  from  forehead  to 
mouth;  and  long,  thin  lips  that  opened  over  small, 
uneven,  discoloured  teeth.  But  the  most  striking 
feature  of  the  face  was  a  scar.  It  lay  across  the 
left  cheek  from  the  corner  of  the  eye  to  the  point 
of  the  heavy  chin.  It  was  a  straight  scar — as 
straight  as  if  made  by  a  keen  knife  drawn  along 


56  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

the  edge  of  a  ruler.  And  it  was  old,  and  a  dead 
white  that  contrasted  sharply  with  the  liquor-red 
dened  skin  of  the  cheek. 

"  I'll  hold  the  lamp,"  said  the  man  with  the  scar. 

The  doctor  unbuckled  his  case,  threw  off  his  coat 
and  rolled  up  his  sleeves.  He  did  not  ask  what  was 
the  matter,  but  laid  back  the  bedclothes  and  began 
his  look  for  a  wound.  And  he  found  it — a  gunshot 
wound  in  the  right  side,  at  the  waist-line,  and  mor 
tally  deep. 

"  My !  This  oughta  been  'tended  to  hours  ago," 
he  said  severely.  "  When  did  it  happen?  " 

"  Yesterday.  He's  been  unconscious  ever 
since." 

"  Git  me  some  hot  water." 

Then,  for  an  hour,  not  a  word  was  spoken.  The 
doctor  worked  with  all  his  energy,  forgetting  where 
he  was,  forgetting  hunger  and  weariness.  The 
table  had  been  moved  close  to  the  bed  and  the  lamp 
placed  upon  it.  So  the  man  with  the  scar  had  noth 
ing  to  do.  He  walked  the  floor,  his  head  down  and 
held  a  little  sidewise,  as  if  he  were  listening;  and 
as  he  walked  his  eyes  continually  shifted  from  side 
to  side. 

"  I'm  done,"  announced  the  doctor  at  last.  "  This 
medicine  you  can  give  him  every  three  hours — one 
teaspoonful.  It's  for  the  fever." 

The  man  with  the  scar  came  over  to  stand  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  "  Leave  something  that'll  make  him 
sleep,"  he  said. 

"  All  right."  The  doctor  had  thought  of  asking 
for  coffee.  Btat  now  he  was  eager  to  get  away. 
There  was  that  in  the  manner  of  his  guide  which 


Doc  57 

he  did  not  like — an  anxiety  that  seemed  apart  from 
concern  for  the  sick  man. 

Soon  they  were  started  on  the  return  trip,  the 
doctor  blindfolded  as  before  and  tied  by  the  wrists 
to  his  pommel.  As  they  went  he  marked  as  well  as 
he  could  ascents  and  descents,  abrupt  turns,  level 
stretches  and  rough.  Bobby  travelled  slowly,  being 
tired  with  all  the  long  miles  he  had  covered  since 
noon;  and  once  or  twice  he  stumbled,  jerking  at 
his  headline. 

The  man  with  the  scar  cursed  him.  "  Why  don't 
you  ride  a  mule?  "  he  called  back.  "  A  mule's  sure 
footed,  and  he's  got  more  sense  in  a  minute  than  a 
horse's  got  in  a  week." 

"  Ain't  nothin'  the  matter  with  this  horse's  smart 
ness,"  retorted  the  doctor.  "  Bobby  knows  as  much 
as  a  man." 

"  Oh,  does  he?  "  said  the  other  with  a  mirthless 
laugh.  "  Well,  you'd  better  look  out  or  I'll  blind 
fold  him,  too." 

When  the  animals  were  once  more  brought  to  a 
standstill  the  man  with  the  scar  did  not  dismount, 
but  rode  close  enough  to  untie  the  thongs  at  the 
doctor's  pommel  and  to  jerk  away  the  handkerchief. 

They  were  beside  the  railroad  track  where  the  dim 
road  branched  east.  The  man  with  the  scar  ad 
dressed  the  doctor  sharply.  "  Doc,"  he  said,  "  if 
you  know  what's  good  for  you  you'll  just  forget 
all  about  to-night."  Then :  "  So  long."  But  he 
stayed  where  he  was  in  the  road. 

"  So  long,"  returned  the  doctor.  He  headed 
north.  When  beyond  the  cemetery  he  looked  round, 
the  mule  and  its  scar-faced  rider  were  gone. 


58  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

A  milk  wagon  was  rumbling  through  the  town  as 
the  doctor  dismounted  at  the  wide  gate  which  led 
to  Bobby's  stable,  and  a  boy  on  a  bicycle  was  wheel 
ing  from  house  to  house  along  the  street,  throwing 
San  Francisco  papers  of  the  previous  afternoon  into 
each  yard.  The  morning  of  another  day  had  come. 

There  was  a  light  still  burning,  however,  in  the 
kitchen  of  the  little  flower-covered  cottage.  And 
soon  Letty  came  hurrying  out.  "  Have  you  had 
any  rest?  "  she  asked.  "  I've  got  some  hot  coffee 
ready  for  you." 

He  gave  a  tender  smile.  "  You'll  make  a  fine 
doctor's  wife !  "  he  declared. 

"  Not  if  I  worry,  though.  And  I  have  worried — 
all  night."  She  tried  to  smile  back  at  him,  but  her 
lips  trembled.  "  Because  I  didn't  like  the  looks  of 
the  man  that  came  here  after  you.  Where  was  the 
case?" 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  worry  worse  when  I  tell  you," 
he  answered.  "  I  don't  know  where  I've  been." 

"  You  don't  know!  " 

Briefly,  over  a  cup  of  steaming  coffee  in  the 
kitchen,  he  related  the  happenings  of  the  night  just 
gone.  Letty  listened,  wide-eyed  and  pale.  "  How 
do  you  figger  it  out?  "  he  asked  her  as  he  concluded 
his  story.  "  The  Blue  Top  call  was  funny,  but  this 
was  worse." 

The  next  moment  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  let  her 
cup  and  saucer  fall  with  a  clatter.  "  That's  who 
they  are !  "  she  cried.  "  Why  didn't  I  think  of  it 
before !  The  whole  thing's  out  at  the  mine."  Then 
she  ran  from  the  kitchen  into  the  dining-room  and 
came  running  back  again,  a  newspaper  in  one  hand. 


Doc  59 

"  Read  it ! "  she  bade  in  the  wildest  excitement. 
"Oh,  read  it!" 

He  took  the  paper  from  her.  It  was  the  local 
publication  of  the  day  before,  and  the  article  she 
indicated  occupied  the  upper  half  of  the  front  page. 
"  Laurence  Eastman  Kidnapped,"  read  a  line  that 
reached  from  one  side  of  the  sheet  to  the  other. 
Under  this,  in  smaller  type,  was  a  subhead :  "  Out 
laws  Demand  Five  Thousand  Dollars  of  Millionaire 
Father.  Threaten  to  Kill  Child  if  Theft  is  Made 
Public." 

The  doctor  read  no  further.  "  That's  what  was 
the  matter  with  Mrs.  Eastman,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  The  boy's  out  in  that  canon !  " 

Astounded,  each  gazed  into  the  face  of  the  other 
for  a  moment.  "  You  didn't  hear  him  ?  "  ventured 
Letty.  "  Maybe  he  was  hid  in  the  brush." 

"  The  shanty  was  pretty  good-sized — lookin'  at 
it  from  the  outside,"  returned  the  doctor.  "  Inside, 
the  room  was  awful  small.  If  that  man  comes  after 
me  again " 

"  Don't  go  out  alone  with  him,"  she  pleaded. 
"  Let  somebody  trail  you." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  He'd  find  it  out  and  shoot. 
No,  I've  got  to  take  the  chance.  Oh,  Letty,  if  I 
could  only  bring  that  little  woman  her  kid !  " 

Letty's  dark  eyes  were  misty.  "  You  couldn't 
telephone  her,  could  you?  "  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  So  far,  everything's  guess 
work.  I  dassent  raise  her  hopes  on  that.  It's  awful 
when  a  person's  hopes're  raised — and  then  go  smash. 
I've  got  to  find  out  where  I  was.  There's  a  scheme 
I  heard  of 


60  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Is  it  scattering  beans  ?  " 

"  No."  He  laughed  and  reached  across  the 
kitchen  table  to  cover  a  slim  hand  with  one  of  his. 
"  No  " — more  soberly — "  it's  something  different — 
it's  about  Bobby.  You'd  have  to  let  me  take  care 
of  him  for  a  few  days  and  treat  him  real  bad.  I 
won't  tell  you  what  I'd  do  to  him,  then  it  won't  fret 
you." 

"  Take  Bobby,"  she  urged.  "  But  oh,  don't  have 
any  trouble  out  there  with  that  man !  "  And  she 
grew  white  and  clung  to  his  hand  as  she  had  never 
done  before. 

He  stayed  only  long  enough  to  reassure  her,  and 
went  when  the  sun  shone  against  the  kitchen  window. 
He  had  been  twenty-four  hours  without  sleep. 

It  was  an  anxious  day  for  Letty.  The  doctor 
spent  it  in  work  after  he  had  had  his  rest,  arid  at 
six  o'clock  opened  his  medicine-case  to  put  into  it 
one  or  two  things  that  had  been  lacking  the  previous 
night.  When  sundown  came  and  the  long,  grateful 
twilight,  he  paid  a  visit  to  Bobby.  Then  he  lighted 
the  lamp  in  his  office  and  sat  down  to  wait.  Dark 
brought  the  looked-for  summons.  The  front  gate 
squeaked  on  its  hinges.  Heavy  steps  sounded  along 
the  narrow  boardwalk  leading  up  to  the  porch. 
Next,  following  a  short  pause,  came  a  knock. 

The  doctor  opened  the  door.  The  man  with  the 
scar  was  in  waiting.  He  kept  out  of  range  of  the 
light  that  fell  through  the  door,  but  the  doctor 
could  see  that  the  face  of  his  visitor  was  again  half 
hidden  by  a  handkerchief  and  that  the  slouch  hat 
was  worn  low  to  shadow  it. 

"  My  friend's  suffering  awful,"  he  said  by  way  of 


Doc  61 

greeting.  "  All  over  the  place,  Doc.  I  felt  almost 
like  putting  him  out  of  his  misery." 

At  once  the  doctor  went  for  Bobby.  An  eager 
whinny  hailed  the  opening  of  the  stable  door.  But 
when  the  little  horse  was  led  out  of  his  stall  he  hung 
back  and  all  but  refused  to  leave  it.  "  You'll  have 
some  supper  out  yonder,"  promised  his  rider,  and 
tied  a  generous  feed  of  oats  to  the  thongs  of  the  big 
stock  saddle. 

A  slender  figure  came  swiftly  across  the  corral. 
It  was  Letty,  and  she  lifted  her  face  to  the  doctor's 
in  mute  anxiety.  He  whispered  encouragement  and 
bent  to  kiss  her,  then  rode  out  to  join  his  waiting 
guide. 

The  second  trip  to  the  canon  was,  in  every  way, 
like  the  first  except  that  it  was  made  more  quickly. 
When  the  clearing  was  reached  and  the  doctor's  eyes 
were  unbound  he  saw  that  there  was  no  patch  of 
light  beyond  the  low  shanty.  "  Didn't  dare  leave 
a  lamp,"  explained  the  man  with  the  scar  as 
he  cautiously  opened  the  door.  After  he  had 
peered  in,  listening,  he  entered  quietly  and  struck 
a  match. 

The  sick  man  was  on  the  floor,  stretched  prone. 
His  eyes  were  wide,  but  unseeing.  His  breathing 
was  laboured. 

They  lifted  him  gently  and  laid  him  on  the  bed. 
Then  the  doctor,  coat  off,  once  more  began  his 
ministering,  while  the  man  with  the  scar  seated  him 
self  on  a  bench  by  the  door  and  smoked.  The  doctor 
paid  the  other  no  attention,  but  apparently  gave 
his  whole  thought  to  his  patient.  Nevertheless,  as  he 
worked  he  kept  on  the  alert  for  sounds,  and,  when 


62  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

his  back  was  turned  toward  his  guard,  examined 
the  wall  against  which  stood  the  head  of  the  bed. 

He  noticed  that  which  made  him  certain  that  the 
shanty  had  a  second,  if  a  very  small,  room.  Two 
of  the  upright  foot-wide  boards  of  the  wall  had  been 
sawed  across  at  a  height  of  six  feet  from  the  floor. 
A  few  moments  later  he  purposely  dropped  the  cork 
of  a  bottle.  As  he  stooped  to  feel  about  for  it  he 
gave  a  quick  look  at  the  lower  ends  of  the  sawed 
boards.  Unlike  the  others  in  the  wall,  they  cleared 
the  floor  by  half  an  inch.  It  was  probable  that  they 
formed  a  narrow,  blind  door;  that  the  wall  itself 
was  a  partition.  He  determined  to  be  certain  about 
it.  "  Fetch  me  some  right  cold  water,"  he  said  to 
the  man  with  the  scar. 

For  a  moment  the  other  remained  seated  and  made 
no  answer.  Then,  "  All  right,"  he  said  reluctantly 
and,  picking  up  a  square  kerosene  can  that  had  been 
fitted  with  a  handle,  went  out. 

The  doctor  waited,  his  eyes  on  his  patient,  his 
ears  strained  for  the  sound  of  vanishing  footsteps. 
He  heard  none.  The  other  was  doubtless  just  out 
side,  watching.  The  doctor  walked  to  the  table, 
took  a  square  of  prepared  plaster  from  his  case  and, 
having  turned  the  light  down  a  little,  laid  the  plaster 
upon  the  top  of  the  globe. 

The  light  went  out.  He  stepped  swiftly  to  the 
head  of  the  bed  and  put  a  hand  against  the  blind 
door.  It  swung  inward  a  foot  or  more,  then  back 
into  place  again. 

"  Here !  "  The  threatening  voice  was  at  the  out 
side  door,  which  opened  and  closed  with  a  bang. 
"  What're  you  trying  to  do?  " 


Doc  63 

The  doctor  took  one  long  stride  in  the  direction 
of  the  speaker.  "  Got  a  match?  "  he  inquired  in 
nocently.  "  That  blamed  lamp  went  out." 

The  other  muttered  and  struck  a  match.  When 
its  light  flashed  the  doctor  was  standing  beside  the 
table,  the  square  of  plaster  in  one  hand. 

"  You  'tend  to  business !  "  warned  the  man  with 
the  scar.  His  thin  lips  were  parted  in  a  snarl. 

"  Now,  look-a-here,"  returned  the  doctor ;  "  I've 
stood  all  the  abuse  I'm  goin'  to.  There  ain't  an 
other  physician  in  this  county  that  would  a-came 
out  here  a  second  time  with  his  eyes  blinded  and 
his  hands  tied — not  if  you  had  ten  friends  dyin'. 
And  I  expect  you  to  show  me  decent  treatment." 
He  leaned  forward  across  the  table  and  looked  the 
other  man  squarely  in  the  face. 

"  Last  night  you  wanted  hot  water.  To-night  you 
want  cold." 

"  Wai,  excuse  me,  but  I'm  the  best  judge  of  what 
the  sick  gent  needs.  If  I  ain't,  why  the  dickens  do 
you  come  after  me?  " 

For  the  space  of  a  minute  they  stood  in  silence, 
face  to  face.  Then,  as  if  partly  convinced,  the  man 
with  the  scar  once  more  took  up  his  oil  can.  When 
his  quick,  shuffling  steps  had  died  away  the  doctor 
tried  another  plan.  He  stooped  over  the  sick  man 
until  his  lips  were  close  to  the  crack  that  ran  down 
the  full  length  of  the  blind  door,  and  began  to  speak 
the  name  that  the  grief-crazed  mother  at  the  mine 
had  spoken :  "  Laurie !  Laurie !  Laurie !  " 

He  listened.  There  was  no  sound  within  or  with 
out.  He  spoke  again,  louder:  "Laurie!" 

First,  a  movement  beyond  the  partition  —  a  soft, 


64  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

rustling,    creeping  movement.      Then,    close    to   the 
wall,  a  little,  weak,  long-drawn  sob ! 

The  doctor  straightened,  his  heart  pounding  so 
furiously  that  it  hurt  him,,  his  face  hot  with  the  joy 
of  his  discovery.  Smiling,  he  glanced  down. 

He  looked  into  a  pair  of  startled  eyes  that  were 
staring  up  at  him.  "  Who  are  you  ?  "  came  the 
husky  demand,  and  the  sick  man  suddenly  lifted 
himself  to  an  elbow,  almost  as  if  he  were  about  to 
leap  from  the  bed. 

The  doctor  could  only  stare  back.  The  man  was 
conscious.  Had  he  heard  him?  What  was  to  be 
done? 

Before  he  could  frame  any  course  of  action  the 
man  with  the  scar  entered. 

"  Your  friend's  lots  better,"  announced  the  doc 
tor,  turning  toward  the  door.  "  Come  and  see." 

"That  so?"  The  other  crossed  to  the  foot  of 
the  bed. 

"  Nick,"  began  the  sick  man,  speaking  with  great 
effort,  "  don't  you  trust  anybody.  You  get  out  of 
here.  Do  you  understand?  Never  mind  me.  I'm 
going  to  die.  Look  at  my  nails."  He  put  out  a 
trembling  hand. 

"  Don't  you  worry,"  answered  the  man  with  the 
scar.  "  The  Doc  came  in  blindfolded." 

"  You're  taking  chances,"  persisted  the  younger 
man.  "  Go — just — leave  me — water,  and — a  gun." 
He  sank  back. 

"  You  got  to  keep  more  quiet,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  Here."  He  lifted  a  cup  to  the  dry  lips. 

When  he  left  the  bedside  the  man  with  the  scar 
followed  and  leaned  close.  "  Bill's  going  to  die," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  Look  at  his  nails." 


Doc  65 

Instead,  the  doctor  looked  at  the  speaker.  There 
was  a  sinister  light  in  those  little,  alert  eyes ;  a 
cruel  twist  to  the  thin  mouth.  And  the  whole  ex 
pression  of  the  scarred  face  bespoke  a  sudden  de 
termination — a  fiendish  determination.  Bill  was  past 
saving.  Soon  the  cabin  would  be  left  behind.  And 
the  doctor — why  let  him  go  back  to  the  town? 

"  He's  going  to  die,"  repeated  the  man  with  the 
scar.  "  And  you  know  it." 

"  My  friend,"  answered  the  doctor,  "  I'll  tell  you 
the  truth.  He  ain't  got  more'n  one  chance  in  a 
hunderd — and  that's  a  pretty  slim  one.  If  he  ain't 
better  to-morrow  I've  got  to  operate."  He  sat 
down. 

The  man  with  the  scar  sat  down  in  front  of  him. 
The  table  was  between  them.  He  leaned  his  arms 
on  it.  "  Don't  take  me  for  a  fool,"  he  advised. 

The  doctor  folded  his  arms.  "  Now,  look  a-here," 
he  retorted,  smiling ;  "  don't  take  m^  for  a  fool.  I 
know  what's  the  matter  with  you." 

At  that  the  man  with  the  scar  rose  so  suddenly 
that  his  bench  tipped  backward. 

"  Yas,"  the  doctor  went  on.  "  I  know  why  you 
brung  me  here  blindfolded  and  what  you're  hidin'." 

The  right  hand  of  the  man  with  the  scar  stole  to 
his  hip. 

The  doctor  ignored  the  action.  He  went  on. 
speaking  with  clear  directness :  "  You  two  fellers've 
located  a  gold  mine.  And  you've  got  the  crazy  idea 
that  I'm  a-goin'  to  bring  out  a  bunch  of  locators. 
Wai,  git  over  it.  I'm  not  a  prospector:  I'm  a 
doc." 

The  hand  on  the  weapon  rested  quiet.  The  man 
with  the  scar  drew  a  gasping  breath.  Then  long 


66  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

and  keenly  he  studied  the  face  of  the  doctor.  After 
a  time  he  dropped  his  arm,  picked  up  his  bench  and 
reseated  himself. 

Some  little  time  passed.  The  doctor  smoked  and 
nursed  a  knee.  Once  he  got  up  to  take  the  pulse 
of  his  patient  and  again  to  mark  the  temperature. 
But  his  every  movement  was  leisurely,  and  he  showed 
no  wish  to  leave.  The  man  with  the  scar  sat,  lean 
ing  on  the  table,  apparently  lost  in  thought. 

All  at  once  he  rose.     "  Well,  come  on,"  he  said. 

Again  the  doctor  examined  the  sick  man.  "  This'll 
be  a  bad  day  for  your  friend,"  he  explained.  "  I'm 
leavin'  something  to  chase  the  pain." 

When  they  were  ready  to  mount  the  other  ad 
dressed  him  harshly.  "  Doc,"  he  said,  "  if  you  and 
me  run  into  anybody  on  our  way  back  it'll  be  you 
that  gets  my  first  shot." 

"  That's  a  bargain,"  answered  the  doctor  good- 
naturedly. 

But,  riding  out  of  the  canon,  he  felt  far  from  con 
fident.  The  previous  night  his  guide  had  led  briskly. 
Now  the  mule  was  lagging.  The  doctor  found  him 
self  moving  his  body  forward  in  his  saddle  to  urge 
Bobby  on.  They  had  gone  only  a  small  part  of  the 
way  homeward  when  the  mule  came  to  a  stop.  Bobby 
halted,  too,  and  the  doctor  waited  like  a  man  who 
expects  a  blow  in  the  dark.  He  listened.  The  other 
did  not  dismount.  There  was  no  audible  movement 
ahead.  But  he  felt  that  sinister  face  turned  upon 
him. 

"  Say,  that  friend  of  your'n  has  got  a  wonderful 
constitution,"  he  remarked. 

There  was  a  short  interval  of  silence.     It  seemed 


Doc  67 

many   minutes   to  the   doctor.      Then,   "  Get   up !  " 
said  the  voice  ahead. 

Letty  was  waiting  for  him  when  he  turned  in  at 
the  corral  gate,  though  it  was  long  past  midnight. 
He  had  been  under  a  severe  strain,  but  she  had  been 
under  a  greater.  He  saw  that  when  he  lifted  the 
lantern  she  brought  him  and  looked  into  her  face. 

"  Good  news,"  he  told  her,  speaking  low.  "  The 
baby's  there." 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  back  in  his  office  once 
more  and  had  Blue  Top  on  the  telephone  "  Come," 
was  his  message.  "  I've  got  a  clue,  Mr.  Eastman. 
But  don't  bring  nobody  with  you." 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  only  just  lain  down 
to  rest  when  he  was  up  again,  admitting  Eastman, 
who  had  come  as  quick  as  a  horse  could  carry  him. 
The  father  was  more  dishevelled  than  ever;  and  on 
his  haggard,  unshaven  face  stood  out  the  sweat  of 
effort  and  anxiety.  Three  days  of  agony  had  aged 
him. 

"  Oh,  my  boy ! "  were  his  first  words. 

"  I  know  where  he  is,  but  I  don't  know  how  to 
git  there,"  said  the  doctor.  Briefly  he  explained. 

Eastman,  half  distracted,  paced  the  floor  as  he 
listened.  "  Oh,  tell  me  what  to  do,"  he  cried  when 
the  doctor  had  finished.  "  My  wife — -it's  killing 
her." 

"  The  medicine  I  left'll  keep  the  sick  feller  up  till 
this  evenin'." 

"  I'll  follow  you  to-night,  then.  Oh,  I  must !  I 
must !  The  boy'll  need  me.  They  dragged  him  over 
all  those  miles.  Think  of  it!  And  wore  out  his 
poor  little  legs." 


68  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  We've  got  to  go  about  this  thing  mighty  care 
ful,"  warned  the  doctor.  "  You  trail  me  and  some- 
body'll  be  shot.  Mebbe  it'll  be  me,  mebbe  it'll  b'e 
your  baby." 

The  father  halted  before  the  younger  man.  "  But 
how  can  you  help  him,"  he  demanded,  "  with  your 
hands  tied?" 

"  Wai,  I've  thought  of  a  scheme.  The  man  that 
come  after  me  searched  me  for  a  pistol  both  nights. 
But  he's  never  looked  into  the  oat-bag.  So,  I'll 
put  a  gun  in  that  bag,  and  when  I  stand  up  from 
feedin'  Bobby  I'll  have  the  drop  on  him." 

"He  may  get  you  first.  Then  what?  Oh,  I'll 
never  see  my  boy  again !  " 

"  Wai,  if  you  can  think  of  a  better  way,  go  ahead." 

But  at  the  end  of  an  hour  Eastman  agreed  with 
the  doctor  that  there  was  no  better  plan.  "  All 
right,"  he  said,  " — all  right — I'll  trust  to  you.  Now 
I  must  telephone  my  wife  that  there's  hope." 

When  the  doctor  awoke  early  that  afternoon  it 
was  to  learn  that  Mrs.  Eastman  had  arrived  and 
was  at  the  hotel.  Eastman  himself  called  the  doctor 
up  to  announce  her  coming  and  the  latter  asked 
the  parents  to  remain  secluded  during  the  remainder 
of  the  day. 

There  was  reason  to  believe  that  the  kidnappers 
might  have  a  confederate  on  watch  in  the  town. 

But  Eastman  had  no  thought  beyond  the  finding 
of  his  child.  "  Suppose  that  sick  man  died  to-day," 
he  said.  "  Won't  the  other  man  leave  and  take 
Laurie  with  him?  Doctor,  I  think  I  ought  to  start 
fifty  men  out  on  a  search." 

The  doctor  opposed  the  suggestion.     "  Take  my 


Doc  69 

advice,"  he  urged  kindly.  "  Tell  Mrs.  Eastman  to 
be  brave." 

Eastman  only  groaned  and  hung  up.  But  later 
on  he  telephoned  again  and  again,  always  with  some 
fresh  idea  that  was  filling  the  heart  of  the  waiting 
mother  with  forebodings. 

Letty  telephoned,  too.  "  Don't  go  alone  to 
night,"  she  begged.  "  It's  too  dangerous." 

"  I  got  to,  Letty,"  he  declared.  "  If  Eastman 
starts  men  out,  which  way'll  they  go?  It  might  take 
'em  a  week  to  find  that  shanty." 

Night  settled  early,  for  long  before  twilight  the 
sky  became  heavily  overcast  and  a  wind  rose,  sweep 
ing  the  dust  up  in  clouds  as  it  drove  through  the 
town,  and  auguring  a  rainstorm.  The  doctor  placed 
a  light  in  his  office,  then  took  his  station  at  a  win 
dow  in  an  unlighted  front  room. 

The  minutes  dragged.  Eight  o'clock  struck,  and 
nine. 

"  Mebbe  that  sick  feller  did  die,"  he  said  to  Letty 
over  the  telephone.  "  But " 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  abruptly.  There  was  a 
sound  of  galloping  in  the  street.  It  ceased  at  the 
gate,  when  heavy  steps  came  hurrying  to  his  porch. 
It  was  the  man  with  the  scar. 

"  Doc,"  he  began,  panting  with  his  hard  ride, 
"  you  said  you'd  operate ' 

"  Ready  in  a  jiffy,"  answered  the  doctor,  and 
turned  away  to  pick  up  hat  and  case. 

The  next  instant  there  was  a  choking  cry  from 
the  porch,  then  loud  curses  and  the  sound  of  fierce 
scuffling.  The  doctor  whirled. 

The  man  with  the  scar  was  flat  on  his  back  at 


70  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

the  threshold,  his  wrists  manacled,  his  shins  ironed; 
over  him  stood  a  smooth-shaven,  thick-set,  middle- 
aged  man  armed  with  a  revolver — the  man  who  had 
halted  the  doctor  on  the  Blue  Top  road ;  and  East 
man  was  there. 

"  He  stole  my  boy !  "  the  father  called  out  furi 
ously.  "  I'm  going  to  kill  him !  "  He  flung  himself 
forward. 

The  man  with  the  revolver  pushed  him  back. 
And,  "  No  !  No !  "  expostulated  the  doctor.  "  East 
man  !  You're  makin'  a  mistake !  " 

The  prisoner  gave  a  loud,  hard  laugh.  "  You  bet 
your  life  he's  making  a  mistake ! "  he  declared. 

"We  got  you  just  the  same,"  said  the  man  with 
the  revolver  triumphantly. 

"  Put  him  on  a  horse,"  ordered  Eastman,  mad 
dened  more  than  ever  by  the  taunting  laugh.  "  He'll 
take  me  to  my  boy  or  I'll  kill  him." 

The  captured  man  ignored  the  father.  His  look 
was  on  the  doctor,  and  it  was  full  of  hate.  "  Ah, 
h — 1 !  "  he  exclaimed  disgustedly.  "  I  could  kick 
myself !  Last  night  I  had  my  finger  on  the  trigger. 
But  like  a  fool " 

Eastman  was  sobbing  in  baffled  rage.  "  My  baby !  " 
he  cried.  "  Four  days  with  this  brute !  Think  of  it !  " 

"  No  more  monkey  business."  The  man  with  the 
revolver  was  speaking,  and  he  gave  his  prisoner  a 
rough  poke  in  the  side  with  his  boot.  "  You're  in 
the  hands  of  the  Sheriff,  and  you're  going  to  take 
us  out  to  that  canon.  We  start  right  off." 

"  No,  we  don't,"  was  the  answer.  "  You've 
trapped  me,  the  three  of  you.  Send  me  up  if  you 
can.  My  word's  as  good  as  this  doctor's,  and  I 


Doc  71 

don't  have  to  take  you  anywhere  to  hunt  for  evi 
dence  against  me." 

"  Get  up,"  commanded  the  sheriff.  He  unbuckled 
the  irons  from  his  prisoner's  legs. 

The  man  with  the  scar  rose.  "  Nobody'll  ever  find 
that  cabin  or  what's  in  it,"  he  said  doggedly. 
"  And  when  Bill  dies " 

"  Oh,  my  God!  "     It  was  the  father. 

The  doctor  was  leaning  in  the  doorway.  "  What'd 
you  do  this  for,  Mr.  Eastman?  "  he  asked. 

The  tears  were  streaming  down  Eastman's  face. 
"  We  thought  the  Sheriff  ought  to  come,"  he  fal 
tered.  "  The  boy's  mother  is  frantic.  And  this 
seemed  the  surest  way."  The  doctor  shook  his  head. 
"  I'm  afraid  we've  lost  our  best  chance,"  he  said. 

"  See  here,  Doc,"  broke  in  the  sheriff.  "  I  made 
the  capture.  And  I  want  you  to  understand  when 
we  find  the  boy  I'm  entitled  to  the  reward." 

The  other  turned  astonished  eyes  upon  him. 
"  Reward  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  You  mean  to  say  you  didn't  know  there's  five 
thousand  offered?  " 

"  So  that's  why  you  done  this,"  said  the  doctor, 
and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  know,  I've  heerd 
tell  of  fellers  that  put  their  foot  in  it.  You've  got 
your'n  in  plumb  to  the  knee." 

"I'll  come  out  all  right,"  retorted  the  sheriff 
boastfully.  "  I'll  send  for  dogs.  There's  three  in 
Sacramento.  I  can  have  'em  here  in  eighteen  hours." 

"  If  I  don't  git  to  Bill,"  said  the  doctor,  "  he'll 
be  dead  before  that."  He  looked  at  the  man  with 
the  scar. 

"  Eighteen  hours  ! "  repeated  Eastman  miserably. 


72  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Now  the  sheriff  advanced  upon  his  prisoner. 
"  You're  going  to  take  me  to  that  cabin,"  he  said 
threateningly.  "  You  don't  think  so  now,  but  I  can 
make  you  change  your  mind,  Come  along."  He 
seized  his  prisoner  by  a  shackled  arm  and  jerked 
him  toward  the  gate. 

Eastman  started  after  the  two,  pleading  incoher 
ently.  But  half-way  to  the  gate  he  stopped.  A 
girl  blocked  the  walk.  It  was  Letty. 

"  Depend  on  the  doctor,"  she  said.  "  He  took 
his  life  in  his  hands  to  find  the  boy.  He  was  going 
to  risk  it  again  to  bring  him  to  you.  And  he  didn't 
even  know  there  was  a  reward." 

Eastman  turned  and  went  stumbling  back. 

"  But  he  doesn't  know  the  way,"  he  protested. 
"  He  said  he  didn't." 

In  answer,  the  doctor  took  his  arm  and  led  him 
down  the  street  to  the  wide  gate  opening  into  Bobby's 
corral.  "  I'll  have  a  horse  here  for  you  in  a  minute," 
he  said.  "  I'll  ride  this  one.  You  see,  there's  an 
other  scheme.  But  it  really  don't  depend  on  me — 
it  depends  on  this  little  bronc." 

When  Bobby  was  saddled  and  bridled  Letty  put 
her  cheek  against  his  soft  nose.  "  Do  your  best," 
she  whispered ;  and  to  his  rider :  "  Don't  fail." 

The  doctor  took  both  her  hands  in  his.  "  I'm 
a-goin'  to  make  it,"  he  declared.  "  Stay  with  the 
boy's  maw,  little  gal,  till  we  come." 

Bobby  was  eager  to  be  off,  pawing  as  the  doctor 
mounted  and  backing  in  a  circle  when  his  rider  held 
him  in  to  wait  for  Eastman.  The  reins  loosened, 
the  little  horse  sprang  forward  at  a  brisk  canter, 
leading  the  way  out  of  town. 


Doc  73 

It  was  at  the  forks  of  the  road  that  the  first  halt 
was  made.  Here  the  doctor,  having  first  tied  the 
bridle  reins  to  his  pommel  assumed  the  exact  position 
in  the  saddle  that  he  had  twice  been  compelled  to 
take,  and  laid  his  hands  on  his  saddle-horn. 

"  Now,  Bobby,"  he  said,  touching  the  mustang 
gently  with  his  heels,  "  here  we  are.  Go  on." 

Bobby  moved  forward,  but  hesitatingly,  and,  when 
he  had  gone  a  few  steps,  stopped,  looking  about  him. 

Again  the  doctor  urged  him  kindly.  "  Want 
your  supper,  Bobby?  Come,  now." 

The  little  horse  made  forward  at  a  brisk  walk 
then,  travelling  straight  south  along  the  road  that 
followed  the  track.  Presently,  however,  he  turned 
sharply  to  the  right  and  entered  the  brush. 

"  Do  you  think  he's  going  right?"  called  out  East 
man  anxiously. 

"  Wai,"  answered  the  doctor,  "  he  acts  like  he 
means  business.  You  see,  for  two  days  I  ain't  give 
him  a  bite  to  eat  except  when  he  was  out  yonder  in 
that  canon." 

Bobby  was  taking  a  westward  course  that  was 
almost  at  right  angles  to  the  road  he  had  just  come 
down.  He  wound  'through  scrubby  liveoaks  and 
bristling  chaparral,  evidently  along  no  path.  Be 
hind  him  the  other  horse  had  to  be  urged  constantly, 
for  the  undergrowth  was  heavy  and  hung  across  the 
way.  But  soon  the  brush  parted  to  leave  a  straight, 
open  track,  so  narrow,  however,  that  it  seemed  only 
a  path.  The  doctor  got  down  and  lit  a  match. 
They  were  on  a  trail  that  showed  recent  use.  Upon 
it,  stamped  plainly  in  the  dust,  were  the  round,  east 
ward-pointing  hoof  prints  of  a  mule. 


74  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Are  we  right?  "  asked  Eastman. 

"So  far." 

Now  both  horses  were  pushed  to  a  canter — until 
the  path  grew  rough  and  steep.  The  doctor  recog 
nised  this  descent  and  listened  for  the  sound  of  the 
rushing  stream  he  had  crossed  both  times  under  the 
guidance  of  the  man  with  the  scar.  When  the  stream 
was  washing  the  hoofs  of  their  horses  the  doc 
tor  reached  out  to  lay  a  hand  on  Eastman's  shoul 
der. 

"  My  friend,  we're  half-way !  " 

Eastman  would  have  pressed  ahead  then,  but  the 
doctor  would  not  permit  it. 

"  Leave  it  to  Bobby,"  was  his  counsel.  "  Mr. 
Nick  didn't  blindfold  Bobby." 

The  path  ascended  the  long  slope  of  a  hogback. 
Pine  needles  covered  the  slope,  and  though  the  doc 
tor  dismounted  a  half-dozen  times  no  path  could  be 
seen.  But  each  time,  as  he  stepped  into  the  saddle 
again,  the  little  horse  went  forward  eagerly. 

The  hogback  ended  abruptly.  Bobby  turned  to 
the  left.  The  trip  had  seemed  so  short  that  now, 
as  the  doctor  looked  into  the  darkness  below  him, 
he  could  scarcely  credit  his  senses. 

"  Eastman,"  he  said.     "  See  below  there !  " 

It  was  a  spot  of  light. 

From  then  on  it  was  a  wild  ride.  The  horses  did 
not  leave  the  steep  path ;  but  they  stumbled,  slid  or 
scrambled  for  a  footing  down  the  whole  of  the  black 
descent.  The  doctor  kept  his  eyes  on  the  light. 
Eastman,  divided  between  joy  and  fear,  shouted  out 
frenziedly  toward  the  nearing  shanty. 

At  the  edge  of  the  clearing  both  men  flung  them 
selves  out  of  their  saddles,  then  ran.  Eastman  led. 


Doc  75 

And  as  he  entered  the  low  door  he  still  hoarsely 
called :  "  Laurie !  Laurie !  Laurie !  " 

A  faint  cry  answered.  It  came  from  beyond  the 
bed,  on  which  lay  a  quiet  form.  The  doctor  reached 
to  shove  at  the  boards  forming  the  blind  door.  They 
gave,  disclosing  a  small  inner  room. 

The  next  moment  a  little  figure  in  soiled  rompers 
came  out  of  the  darkness  of  the  room,  toddling  un 
steadily  on  bare  legs,  for  the  baby  stockings  were 
down  over  worn  sandals.  Fair  hair  hung  uncombed 
about  a  face  that  was  pitifully  thin  and  streaked  by 
tears  and  dust.  The  doctor  lifted  the  boy  up  and 
swung  him  out,  and  the  father  spread  his  arms  to 
receive  him  and  caught  the  child  to  his  breast. 

The  doctor  laid  back  the  rumpled  covers  of  the 
bed  then.  "  Bill,"  he  said  kindly,  and  began  to 
unbuckle  the  strap  of  his  case. 

"  So  that's  the  other  one."  It  was  Eastman,  on 
his  knees,  the  child  clasped  tight. 

The  doctor  laid  back  the  bedcovers  very  gently. 
"  It  was  the  other  one,"  he  answered. 

Midnight,  and  the  lost  boy  was  in  his  mother's 
arms,  with  Eastman  hovering  beside  the  two,  and  the 
doctor  across  from  him,  sitting  on  his  heels,  with 
a  baby  hand  in  his  big,  gentle  grasp. 

"  Doctor,  we'll  never  be  able  to  make  it  up  to 
you,"  said  the  father.  "  I  don't  feel  that  the  re 
ward  is  half  enough.  But  I  want  you  to  accept  it 
with  our  lifelong  gratitude."  They  were  in  Mrs. 
Eastman's  sitting-room  at  the  hotel.  Her  husband 
crossed  to  a  desk. 

The  doctor  stood  up,  colouring  bashfully.  "  Aw, 
I  can't  take  money  for  findin'  the  little  feller,"  he 


76  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

protested;  and  when  Eastman  came  back,  holding 
out  a  slip  of  paper  to  him,  he  shook  his  head  decid 
edly.  "  No,  sir,  I  just  can't,"  he  declared.  Letty 
entered  then,  carrying  a  tray  hidden  under  a  nap 
kin.  He  hastened  across  the  room  to  take  it  from 
her. 

"  We'll  see  about  this  later  on,"  answered  East 
man.  "  You  must  accept  it.  And  there's  another 
thing  I  want  to  offer.  You  know,  Doctor  Fowler's 
been  up  from  San  Francisco  to  look  over  the  Blue 
Top  position.  But  he  won't  suit.  Do  you  think 
he's  been  worrying  about  the  finding  of  my  boy?  Not 
a  bit  of  it.  He's  been  worrying  for  fear  the  bunga 
low  wouldn't  be  big  enough  to  please  his  wife. 
There's  one  thing  I  didn't  realise  the  other  day,  Doc. 
What  we  need  is  a  physician  that  doesn't  put  on 
so  much  style — the  kind  of  .a  man  that  can  meet  any 
emergency,  you  understand — take  a  horse  over  a 
trail  if  it's  necessary." 

"  Yas  ?  "  returned  the  doctor.  The  tray  was  still 
in  his  hands.  And  now  it  began  to  tremble  so  that 
there  was  a  faint  clink  of  glass.  He  stood  looking 
down  at  it. 

"  In  fact,"  went  on  Eastman,  "  we  need  a  doctor 
like  you  at  the  mine." 

The  doctor  raised  his  eyes  to  the  girl  standing 
at  Mrs.  Eastman's  side.  And  he  saw  that  there  was 
a  look  of  great  happiness  on  her  face,  like  the  hap 
piness  on  the  face  of  the  young  mother. 

"Blue  Top!"  he  said.  Then:  "Letty,  do  you 
think  the  little  shingled  house  is  too  small?  " 


THE   BOOMERANG 

WHEN   darkness   settled   a  figure  began 
to    follow    Patton — a    tall,    ungainly, 
heavy-shouldered  figure.     It  shadowed 
him  down  the  single  street  of  the  desert 
town  to  the  depot,  where  he  bought  two  tickets  and 
checked  two  beribboned  trunks ;  it  lurked  at  his  heels 
when  he  went  back  along  the  dirt  sidewalk  to  Con- 
ley's   restaurant,   the   largest   of   the   score   of   un- 
painted  pine  shacks  that  made  up  Searles.     The  res 
taurant  faced  the  single  track  of  the  railroad  line, 
and  as  Patton  ate  his  supper,  the  figure  stood  on 
the  ties,  quiet  and  watchful.     When  Patton  left  the 
restaurant   for   the   barber-shop   farther   along   the 
street,  it  moved  parallel  with  him,  and  took  up  its 
station  outside  a  front  window  of  the  place. 

Patton  entered  the  shop  hurriedly  and  dropped 
into  the  only  chair.  He  was  a  man  of,  perhaps, 
forty,  with  black  hair  that  was  brushed  away  slickly 
from  a  narrow  forehead,  and  black  eyes  set  deep  and 
near  together.  His  nose  was  long  and  sharply 
pointed.  His  mouth  was  too  full  for  his  lean  jaws, 
which  gave  his  cheeks  the  appearance  of  being  con 
stantly  sucked  in.  But  he  was  far  from  ill-looking. 
And  when  he  got  out  of  the  barber's  chair  presently, 
fresh-shaven,  there  was  a  healthy  glow  to  his  dark 
skin  under  its  trace  of  powder. 

He   arranged  a   spotless   collar   and   a  fresh  tie, 

77 


78  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

settled  his  soft  hat  on  his  carefully  combed  hair,  ad 
justed  his  coat  before  a  mirror,  and  went  out.  The 
figure  moved  with  him,  going  toward  the  depot  once 
more.  A  building  beyond  the  station  was  brightly 
lighted.  Patton  made  toward  it,  walking  fast  and 
whistling.  The  figure  walked  faster  than  he — un 
til  it  was  almost  at  his  heels. 

"Patton!" 

Patton  halted.  "  Hello,"  he  returned  cheerily. 
"Who  is  it?" 

The  figure  halted.  "  It's  Jeff  Blandy,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  Oh."  The  tone  showed  displeasure.  Patton 
backed  away  a  step.  "  Well,  what  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

Blandy  did  not  reply  at  once.  Then,  "  You  can't 
do  nothin'  for  me,"  he  said.  "  I  just  want  to  say 
a  word  or  two  about — Polly  Baker." 

"Yes?"  inquired  Patton  impatiently.  "Well, 
hurry  up.  The  ceremony's  at  nine-thirty.  The 
west-bound  goes  through  at  eleven." 

Again  there  was  a  short  silence.  When  Blandy 
went  on,  his  voice  was  lowered.  "  She  ain't  got  no 
paw  nor  maw,  nor  no  brother.  That's  why  Tm 
a-speakin'  to  you." 

"  I'll  look  after  her,"  said  Patton  coldly. 

"  I'd  like  to  feel  right  shore  of  that.  You  see, 
she  and  me  has  been  good  friends  for  a  long  while. 
And  I  want  to  ask  you,  Patton,  to  play  fair  with 
her,  and " 

"  Say !  look  here ! "  broke  in  the  other  man. 
"  You're  putting  your  lip  into  something  that's  none 
of  your  business."  ,v 


The  Boomerang  79 

"Do  y'  think  so?"  retorted  Blandy  with  sudden 
spirit.  "-Wai,  out  here  in  the  West,  a  man's  likely 
to  find  hull  crowds  that'll  make  it  their  business  if 
he  can't  see  his  way  to  treatin'  a  woman  white." 

"What  do  you   mean?"   demanded  Patton. 

"  Just  this :  I  happen  to  know  about  that  Galindo 
business  at  Paicines.  There's  one  place  you  didn't 
act  on  the  square.  Wai,  the  Galindo  girl's  a  greaser, 
and  her  men  folks  oughta  took  better  care  of  her. 
We  won't  say  nothin'  more  about  it,  Patton.  But 
don't  forgit  this:  A  feller  owes  his  wife  somethin' 
more'n  just  the  weddin'  ceremony." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  sneered  Patton.  "  You're  trying  to 
kick  up  a  rumpus.  You  wanted  Polly  yourself." 

Blandy  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  Me?  "  he  said. 
"  Me?  Why,  you're  crazy !  All  I've  got  to  keep  a 
wife  on  is  my  prospectin'  outfit  and  a'  old  mangy 
mule.  Me!  Huh!  No  girl'd  look  at  me — no  fine, 
pretty  girl  that's  had  lots  of  chances.  I  ain't  noth 
in'  but  a  slob." 

To  that,  Patton  made  no  comment. 

"  No,  you're  the  kind  of  a  man  that  a  girl  likes," 
Blandy  went  on.  "  And  you  git  a  couple  of  hunderd 
from  the  East  every  month.  You  can  take  her  away 
from  this  hole  and  make  her  nice  and  comfortable  in 
Los  Angeles,  and  give  her  a  hired  girl  to  wait  on 
her,  and  decent  clothes.  Wai,  that's  fine.  But  a' 
easy  time  and  good  clothes  don't  amount  to  a  hill 
of  beans  with  a  woman  if  she  ain't  happy.  So — 
play  fair  with  her,  Patton.  In  the  long  run,  it  pays 
to  do  what's  right.  You  know  that.  Nine  times 
outen  ten,  when  a  man  picks  up  a  club  to  take  a' 
underhanded  shy  at  another  person,  Mister  Stick 


80  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

comes  whizzin'  right  back  and  gives  him  a  crack  in 
the  head  like  one  of  them " 

"That'll  do,  Blandy,"  interrupted  Patton.  His 
voice  was  hoarse  with  anger.  "  I  haven't  any  more 
time  for  your  damned  gossip."  He  turned  abruptly 
and  strode  away. 

Blandy  stayed  where  he  was,  his  heavy  shoulders 
stooped,  his  arms  hanging  loosely  at  his  sides,  his 
weight  shifted  to  one  foot.  He  saw  a  door  of  the 
near-by  house  open  wide  to  admit  Patton;  heard  a 
chorus  of  gay  voices  greet  the  other  man,  and  fol 
lowing  a  short  wait,  heard  the  tones  of  an  organ, 
playing  a  march.  He  waited  until  the  organ 
ceased;  then,  head  lowered,  and  hat  pulled  down  to 
his  brows,  he  walked  away  slowly,  going  to  the  de 
pot. 

He  halted  in  the  shadow  of  the  station  and  stayed 
there  until  the  head-light  of  the  west-bound  train 
shone  in  the  distance  like  a  fallen  star.  The  star 
grew.  And  through  the  night  air  came  the  thin 
shriek  of  the  nearing  engine.  It  was  then  that  a 
laughing,  chattering  group  left  the  brightly  lighted 
house  and  came  hurrying  toward  the  depot.  Blandy 
turned  from  the  approaching  light. 

The  centre  of  the  group  was  the  bride,  a  slender 
girl  in  a  white  dress.  As  she  stepped  upon  the 
platform,  under  the  station  lamps,  Blandy  leaned 
forward  a  little  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  face.  Her 
childish  eyes,  long-lashed  and  the  blue  of  lapis  lazuli, 
were  bright  with  happiness,  her  cheeks  an  excited 
pink. 

She  saw  the  tall  figure  standing  half  in  and  half 
out  of  the  shadow,  and  ran  to  him.  "  Jeff,"  she 


The  Boomerang  81 

began  reprovingly,  "  you  didn't  come  to  the  wed 
ding!" 

He  took  her  outstretched  hand.  "  No,"  he 

agreed  ;  "  no,  I — I  didn't,  but "  He  paused 

awkwardly. 

"I  missed  you,  Jeff,"  she  declared.  "Why,  I 
wanted  you  there  more  than  anybody  else.  And  I 
wanted  to  wait  till  someone  could  go  for  you.  But 
nobody'd  seen  you,  and  they  didn't  know  where  you 
were — What  was  the  matter,  Jeff?  " 

"  I — I  had  business  to  attend  to,"  he  explained. 

"  Business !     And  you  my  best,  best  friend " 

The  train  was  close.  Voices  began  to  summon  her 
back  to  the  wedding-party. 

Blandy  leaned  down  to  her.  "  Dear  little  Polly," 
he  said  huskily,  "  your  old  side-pardner  wishes  you 
all  the  luck  that's  in  the  world." 

Then  she  was  gone  again.  She  smiled  back  at  him 
from  the  steps  of  the  car,  and  answered  the  chorus 
of  farewells  that  was  shouted  up  to  her.  The  en 
gine-bell  clanged,  the  train  moved.  Patton  sprang 
to  the  girl's  side  amid  a  shower  of  rice.  There  was 
more  shouting,  which  was  answered  from  the  car 
platform,  and  the  west-bound  pulled  out,  the  green 
lights  on  the  rear  of  the  last  coach  glowing  like  the 
eyes  of  a  serpent. 

Blandy  lifted  a  hand  to  his  breast,  then  to  his 
throat,  then  to  his  eyes.  The  group  of  wedding 
guests  gone,  and  the  depot  platform  dark,  he  crossed 
the  railroad  track,  walking  a  little  uncertainly. 
Out  in  the  blackness,  among  the  sage-brush,  some 
thing  was  moving  about — an  animal.  He  went  up 
to  it,  untied  a  rope,  spoke  a  word  of  command,  and 


82  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

started  off  northward — away  from  the  town  into  the 
desert. 

Jeff  Blandy,  staggering  across  the  last  mile  of 
his  journey,  directed  his  way  over  the  railroad  track 
to  Conley's  restaurant.  The  dust  of  many  days 
and  nights  was  upon  him,  powdering  hair  and  clothes 
to  the  colour  of  his  grey  hat.  The  weariness  of 
trudging  over  yielding  and  uneven  ground  was  in  his 
long  legs  and  in  the  stoop  of  his  shoulders.  And  the 
leathern  sallow  of  his  face  wore  a  fresh  gloss  of 
vivid  red  that  was  like  the  reflection  of  a  torch-flame. 
Yet  in  his  eyes — as  brown  and  big  and  appealingly 
honest  as  the  eyes  of  a  great,  friendly  dog — was  a 
gleam  that  neither  the  sand-laden  winds  nor  the 
scorching  sun  had  dulled.  And  there  was  a  smile 
lurking  among  the  long  bristles  at  the  corners  of 
his  wide  mouth. 

Entering  the  restaurant,  he  found  it  unchanged, 
though  a  year  had  passed  since  he  had  left  Searles. 
There  were  the  two  oilcloth-covered  tables  that 
reached  from  end  to  end  of  the  room,  and  the  coun 
ter,  with  its  cash-register.  But  no  one  was  on  hand 
to  take  his  order.  Stiffly,  he  let  himself  down  upon 
a  chair  at  one  end  of  the  first  table.  Then,  leaning 
back  and  dropping  his  hat  to  the  floor  at  his  side,  he 
picked  up  a  knife  and  rang  a  sharp  summons  on  the 
rim  of  an  empty  glass. 

The  door  into  the  kitchen  swung  open  to  admit 
a  young  man  in  shirtsleeves  and  soiled  apron, — a 
short,  thick-set  young  man  with  the  curly  flaxen 
hair,  full  blue  eyes  and  apple-red  cheeks  of  a  boy 
doll.  He  was  carrying  a  pitcher  of  water. 


The  Boomerang  83 

Blandy  drained  his  glass  before  he  gave  the  other 
a  nod.  Then,  "  Gimme  some  ham  and  eggs  and 
fried  potatoes,"  he  began.  "  A  steak,  if  you  got  it, 
too.  And  coffee.  And  some  pie.  And  fruit — " 

"  Oranges  iss  the  only  fruit,"  interrupted  the 
waiter. 

"  Orange'll  do.  And  could  the  cook  mix  me  some 
flap- jacks?  " 

"  I  guess." 

"  Then  that'll  be  all." 

The  young  man  in  shirt-sleeves  went  out,  kicking 
the  swinging  door  open  before  him  and  shouting  his 
order.  Left  alone,  Blandy  helped  himself  to  a  sec 
ond  glass  of  water,  after  which  he  stretched  his  legs 
far  under  the  table,  folded  his  arms  upon  his  breast, 
and  took  a  deep  breath.  Then,  as  he  waited, 
the  smile  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  began  slowly  to 
spread,  until  his  burned  cheeks  were  wrinkled  with  it, 
and  his  moistened  lips  were  parted  to  show  a  double 
line  of  strong  white  teeth.  Thus  he  sat,  all  a-grin, 
dreaming. 

Beyond  the  swinging-doors,  dishes  were  clatter 
ing,  and  there  was  a  sound  of  sputtering  and  frying. 
The  voice  of  the  waiter  rose  and  fell,  too,  amid 
the  din  of  crockery  and  cooking;  and  mingled  with 
his  voice,  now  and  then,  was  the  voice  of  a  woman. 
Presently,  the  tempting  smell  of  ham  was  wafted  out 
into  the  dining-room.  It  was  then  that  Blandy  drew 
in  his  feet  and  sat  erect,  turning  his  eyes  kitchen- 
ward. 

Soon  the  waiter  appeared.  Pyramided  upon  his 
towel-draped  left  arm  were  numerous  plates  and 
platters,  topped  by  a  huge  cup  of  inky  coffee  that 


84  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

steamed  as  it  washed  gently  from  side  to  side  with 
every  sway  of  the  arm.  As  the  order  was  placed 
upon  the  table,  together  with  some  cutlery,  which 
the  waiter  scattered  with  his  right  hand,  Blandy 
picked  up  a  knife  and  fork,  pulled  a  platter  into 
place  before  him,  and  began  to  eat,  ravenously. 
Someone — a  man — entered  the  front  door  and  took 
a  seat  behind  the  cash-register.  Blandy  did  not 
look  up.  One  by  one  the  platters  and  plates  were 
emptied.  At  last,  refreshed  and  satisfied,  Blandy 
picked  up  an  orange  and  began  to  peel  it  leisurely. 

It  was  now  that  for  the  first  time  he  chanced  to 
look  across  at  the  man  behind  the  counter.  That 
glance  brought  him  to  his  feet,  the  half-peeled  orange 
in  his  hand.  "  Harvey  Patton ! "  he  exclaimed  in 
amazement. 

"  How  are  you  ?  "  answered  Patton,  indifferently. 
The  tip  of  his  nose  moved  up  and  down  a  little  as 
he  spoke. 

Blandy  strode  toward  the  counter.  "  What  under 
the  shinin'  sun  are  you  doin'  back  in  Searles?  "  he 
demanded. 

"  Keeping  restaurant." 

The  other  was  silent  for  a  moment,  his  astonished 
eyes  still  fixed  upon  Patton.  Then,  "Where's — 
Polly?"  he  asked. 

Patton  jerked  his  head  sidewise  toward  the  kitchen. 
"  She's  doing  the  cooking,"  he  explained,  smiling. 

Blandy's  staring  eyes  narrowed.  He  turned 
abruptly,  crossed  the  room  to  the  swinging  door  and 
struck  it  out  of  the  way  before  him. 

Just  within  the  kitchen,  he  halted.  It  was  a  small 
room,  reeking  with  smells,  and  suffocatingly  hot. 


The  Boomerang  85 

On  the  side  farthest  from  Blandy  was  a  sink.  And 
bending  over  the  sink,  with  her  back  to  him,  was 
a  girl.  As  he  looked  at  her,  the  red  on  his  face 
slowly  deepened,  as  if  he  were  holding  his  breath. 
After  a  while,  his  glance  travelled  to  the  stove,  upon 
which  some  pots  were  steaming;  to  the  long  kitchen- 
table  piled  high  with  unwashed  dishes ;  to  the  heaping 
oil-can  of  scraps  at  the  foot  of  the  table ;  to  the 
floor,  spattered  and  unswept.  When  at  last  his  look 
went  back  to  the  girl,  the  hairy  skin  at  either  side  of 
his  mouth  was  twitching  with  the  effort  of  self-con 
trol. 

"Polly!" 

She  turned.  The  perspiration  was  streaming  from 
forehead  and  temples,  so  that  her  face  and  throat 
glistened,  as  her  arms  were  glistening  with  the  water 
that  was  streaming  from  elbows  to  finger-ends.  Her 
face  was  more  scarlet  than  his  own.  Out  of  that 
scarlet  looked  her  eyes,  which  were  shadowed  by 
wide,  dark  circles. 

"Why— why,  Jeff!" 

He  shook  his  head,  slowly  and  sadly.  "  And  so 
you  married  to  come  to  this"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

There  was  a  bench  beside  the  sink.  She  sank  to 
it,  as  if  too  weary  to  keep  her  feet.  As  she  sat 
there,  leaning  on  a  hand,  he  saw  her,  not  as  she  was 
before  him,  tired  and  blowzy  and  wet  with  sweat, 
but  as  he  had  seen  her  last.  He  took  a  step  toward 
her.  "  How  does  it  come  that  you  and  Patton're 
keepin'  a'  eatin'-house?  "  he  asked. 

"  We — we  got  short  of  money,"  she  answered  fal- 
teringly.  "  Harvey  wouldn't  work  in  Los  Angeles 
where  he's  acquainted.  He's  so  proud.  So  we  came 


86  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

back  here.  And — and  this  was  all  we  could  see  to 
do." 

"  We/9  repeated  Blandy. 

"  Well,"  she  answered.     "  Well •" 

"  How  about  that  two  hunderd  he  used  to  git 
every  month  from  the  East?"  He  watched  her 
keenly. 

"  Never  comes  any  more,"  she  declared. 

"  That's  too  bad.  Makin'  any  money  with  the 
rest'rant?  " 

"  I — I  don't  know.  Mr.  Conley  didn't  when  he 
had  it.  But  then  he  had  to  pay  his  cook." 

"  Huh !  "  commented  Blandy,  between  his  teeth, 
and  fell  silent  again.  "  This  work's  too  hard  for 
you,"  he  said  finally,  when  he  could  trust  himself  to 
speak.  "  You'll  drop  in  your  tracks.  Why,  I 
could  pick  you  up  in  my  two  hands  like  a  rag  and 
wring  you." 

Her  lips  trembled.  But  she  kept  her  face  raised 
to  his.  "  Oh,  I  don't  mind  a  little  work,"  she  de 
clared. 

The  flaxen-haired  waiter  entered  the  kitchen  by 
the  rear  door.  Blandy  turned  and  went  out  through 
the  other  one.  There  was  a  gleam  in  the  dog-like 
eyes  once  more,  but  it  was  not  a  gleam  that  was 
good  to  see. 

Patton  was  still  seated  behind  the  cash-register. 
He  smiled  at  Blandy  again,  and  gave  another  side- 
wise  jerk  of  his  smooth  head  toward  the  kitchen. 
"It's  a  pretty  complete  plant,  isn't  it?"  he  ques 
tioned  boastfully. 

Blandy    made    no    reply,    only    reached    a    big, 


The  Boomerang  87 

freckled  hand  into  a  pocket,  brought  forth  two  silver 
dollars,  and  tossed  them  ringing  upon  the  counter. 
Then  he  picked  up  his  hat  and  went  out. 

But  just  in  front  of  the  entrance,  he  halted.  Be 
fore  him,  across  the  wide,  dusty  street  and  the  shin 
ing  rails  of  the  track,  lay  the  level  desert.  It  was 
mid-afternoon.  And  the  grey  wastes  were  swept  by 
waves  of  heat  that  sank  and  rose  unceasingly,  now 
almost  as  plain  to  the  eye  as  flames  would  have  been, 
now  shadowy.  Blandy  measured,  every  blistering 
mile,  from  the  rough,  unroofed  porch  on  which  he 
stood  to  the  distant  horizon,  where  a  mountain 
range  traced  an  uneven  line  upon  the  misty  blue  of 
the  sky.  And  as  he  stood,  his  arms  hanging  loose 
at  his  sides,  his  shoulders  lowered,  his  head  sunk 
between  them,  he  was  the  very  figure  of  indecision. 

Finally,  he  straightened,  turned  about,  opened  the 
restaurant  door  and  re-entered.  Patton  was  smok 
ing,  a  long  cigar  in  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  and 
tilted  upward ;  one  knee  crossed  upon  the  other. 

Blandy  walked  to  the  counter.  "  Patton,"  he 
began,  "  this  ain't  no  kind  of  a  business  for  you. 
You  won't  make  your  salt  here  in  Searles.  Now,  I've 
got  a  proposition  to  make  you — you  and  Polly.  But 
it  mustn't  go  no  further."  He  gave  a  quick  glance 
about  him. 

"  I'm  not  dying  to  stay  in  Searles,"  observed  Pat- 
ton,  blowing  smoke. 

"  Wai," — Blandy  dropped  his  voice — "  you  go 
into  pardnership  with  me,  Patton,  and  you  don't 
have  to  stay." 

The  other  took  out  his  cigar  and  eyed  Blandy 


88  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

half-suspiciously.  "  You've  changed  some,"  he  com 
mented.  "  You  didn't  used  to  care  much  about  me. 
But — what's  your  proposition?  " 

The  gleam  of  triumph  came  back  into  Blandy's 
eyes.  "  I've  made  a  strike,"  he  said. 

"  A  mine?  " 

Now,  Blandy  straightened,  shoulders  back,  head 
up,  face  all  a-grin  once  more.  "  That's  what,"  he 
declared  proudly. 

Patton  slipped  down  from  his  stool.  "Where?  " 
he  asked  excitedly. 

Blandy  lifted  a  long  arm  to  point  out  through 
the  front  window  toward  the  north.  "  Four  days 
from  here,"  he  answered. 

"  When'll  we  go  ? "  questioned  the  other.  He 
reached  across  to  lay  a  hand  on  Blandy's  sleeve. 
"  We've  got  to  locate,  you  know.  That's  the  law. 
We  mustn't  miss  a  trick,  old  man." 

"  Oh,  I  located,  all  right,"  declared  Blandy.  He 
drew  back  a  step. 

"  But  you  didn't  locate  for  me"  went  on  Patton. 
"  So  /'ve  got  to  go  out,  haven't  I?  And  there's 
another  reason,  too.  You're  the  only  person  that 
knows  just  where  the  lead  is.  Well,  suppose  any 
thing  were  to  happen  to  you — a  railroad  accident, 
or  a  bad  sickness.  Where  would  /  be?  That's  the 
way  all  the  lost  mines've  come  about,  Blandy." 

"  We'll  talk  it  over  to-night.  Then  Polly  can  hear 
about  it,  too.  There's  enough  for  the  three  of  us 
out  there, — and  some  over.  So  she  can  have  a  claim 
separate." 

"  Oh,  I'll  look  after  her,"  said  Patton  carelessly. 

"  No."     There    was    determination    in    Blandy's 


The  Boomerang  89 

tone.  "  I'm  lettin'  you  in  on  this  with  the  under- 
standin'  that  she  has  her  holdin'.  She  can  lease  it, 
or  she  can  work  it,  just  whichever  she  likes.  You 
know,  it's  kinda  stylish  for  a  lady  to  have  her  own 
bank-book." 

"  All  right,"  agreed  Patton  impatiently.  . 

It  was  close  upon  four  then.  Patton  was  for  call 
ing  his  wife  in  and  breaking  the  news  at  once.  "  And 
we'll  close  up  and  cut  out  supper,"  he  declared, 
"  and  have  a  little  celebration." 

But  Blandy  flatly  objected.  "Don't  shut  down 
just  a'  hour  or  two  before  a  meal,"  he  advised.  "  Put 
a  sign  on  the  front  door  to-night.  Say  on  it  that 
the  rest'rant  is  closed  'cause  your  wife  is  plumb 
wored  out.  We  can't  afford  to  give  ourselves  away, 
Patton.  There's  plenty  of  men  in  Searles  that  can 
smell  a  strike  forty  mile.  Look  out  or  some  of  'em 
'11  be  follerinrus." 

"  You're  right,"  declared  Patton. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Polly  cooked  supper  in 
ignorance  of  the  sudden  good  fortune  that  was  to 
make  such  further  toiling  unnecessary.  Blandy 
went  out  into  the  hot  kitchen  a  second  time.  But 
he  had  little  to  say,  and  devoted  his  efforts  to  the 
washing  and  drying  of  the  dishes,  which  he  received 
in  pyramids  from  the  swinging  left  arm  of  the  flaxen- 
haired  waiter;  and  when,  shortly  after  seven  o'clock, 
the  last  guest  was  gone,  and  the  last  dish  clean, 
Blandy  swept  and  mopped  the  kitchen  floor. 

At  eight,  by  the  light  of  a  single  candle,  there 
was  a  conference  of  three  at  one  of  the  oilcloth-cov 
ered  tables  in  the  front  room.  The  waiter  had  taken 
himself  off  in  the  direction  of  the  main  saloon  down 


90  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

the  street,  out  of  which  were  floating  the  strains  of 
a  violin  and  the  voices  of  singing  women.  Never 
theless,  Blandy  told  his  story  in  a  half-whisper,  and 
without  pointing. 

"  The  ledge  is  in  a  spur  of  the  range  back  of 
Salt  Basin,"  he  confided.  "  And  clost  to — what  do 
you  think?  " 

"What?"  questioned  Patton. 

"  The  bowl  in  the  rock !  " 

Patton  turned  to  his  wife.  "  That's  the  spring 
I  told  you  about,"  he  explained.  "  I  went  out  there 
four  years  ago  with  a  prospector.  You  wouldn't 
believe,  Polly,  that  water  could  be  found  in  a  place 
like  that — a  regular  ash-pile,  you  might  say.  But 
there  it  is.  The  bowl  is  hollowed  out  as  pretty  as 
can  be.  And  the  water  comes  in  drop  by  drop — 
just  at  night,  though.  It  leaks  in  through  a  split 
that's  so  fine  you  couldn't  get  a  knife-blade  into 
it.  But  what  comes  in  doesn't  run  out,  because  the 
bowl's  good-sized,  and  if  the  buzzards  don't  drink 
the  water  up,  the  sun  does." 

Polly  made  no  comment.  She  sat  very  still,  watch 
ing  Blandy  steadily.  Her  face  was  as  pale  as  it 
had  been  scarlet  at  mid-afternoon. 

"  The  lead  ain't  more'n  a  stone's  throw  from  the 
bowl,"  went  on  Blandy ;  "  — to  the  right  up  the  slope. 
Say!  think  of  the  feller's  that've  missed  it! — 'cause 
they  was  so  all-fired  glad  to  find  water  that  they 
forgot  all  about  gold.  But  I  found  it.  I  was 
comin'  down  the  slope,  headin'  for  a  drink,  when  my 
darned  feet  got  all  tangled  up  and  I  took  a  double- 
ender.  Wai,  sir,  when  I  sit  up  to  feel  if  any  bones 
was  broke,  here  was  the  blossom  rock,  lookin'  me 


The  Boomerang  91 

straight  in  the  eye! — yeller  chunks,  Patton,  as  big 
as  pine-nuts ! " 

Patton's  black  eyes  were  glistening.  "  How 
high'll  that  rock  run  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Turrible  high — even  where  it  don't  show  colour. 
There  was  a  fortune  right  in  sight — without  thinkin' 
of  what's  laying  behind.  There's  all  we'll  ever  want 
out  there — a  chance  to  do  a  few  things  for  our 
friends,  and  our  relations — them  that  we  like ;  and 
grand  houses,  and  outomobiles,  and  fine  clothes,  and 
horses,  and  folks  to  wait  on  us,  and  travellin',  and 
edication,  and — and  what'll  make  Polly  a  queen !  " 

"  Did  you  put  up  a  written  notice?  " 

«  Shore." 

"  Have  you  got  some  specimens  ?  " 

"  About  a  mile  from  here — buried." 

"  A  few  samples  aren't  enough,"  asserted  Patton. 
"  Anybody  can  get  hold  of  a  dozen  pieces  of  rich 
rock.  Why,  there  are  men  who  make  a  good  living 
by  selling  ore  that's  used  to  draw  suckers  on." 

"  A-course,  that's  so,"  agreed  Blandy. 

"  What  we  ought  to  have  is  about  four  barley- 
sackfuls.  There's  nothing  like  making  a  great,  big 
hit  at  the  very  start." 

"  Yas,  I  know,"  said  Blandy.  "  But  when  one  of 
them  millionaire  fellers  is  considerin'  a  lease,  he  sends 
out  a'  expert." 

"  If  you  have  a  hundred  pounds  of  quartz  and 
an  assay,  there  won't  be  any  need  of  an  expert," 
argued  Patton.  "  We'll  lease  without  a  bit  of  trou 
ble.  Of  course,  we  might  make  more  by  taking  some 
rich  man  in  as  a  partner,  and  working  the  mine  on 
shares " 


92  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Why,  there's  half  a  million  apiece  in  it  for  us 
without  doin'  that." 

"Half  a  million,"  repeated  Patton.  "Huh!  I 
mean  to  ask  one  million  flat  for  my  share." 

Blandy  laughed.  "  Oh,  leave  a  little  for  the  gent 
that's  a-going  to  put  up  the  cash,"  he  advised. 

Patton  went  on  arguing.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact," 
he  declared,  "  it  wouldn't  take  us  any  time  at  all  to 
land  three  hundred  pounds  of  ore  at  the  track  if  we 
used  an  auto." 

"  No."  Blandy  was  decisive.  "  No,  I  don't 
trust  none  of  them  flyshuffers." 

"  But  I'll  drive." 

"  Take  a  machine  and  leave  tracks,  eh? "  de 
manded  Blandy.  "  Not  on  your  life !  Burros  is 
what  we  need.  A  burro  can  travel  on  a  washout  and 
never  turn  a  stone." 

"  All  right,  burros  then,"  assented  Patton  eagerly. 
"  Let's  start  to-morrow  night." 

"  Oh,  what's  your  sweat?  "  asked  Blandy. 

"  Just  this :  The  quicker  we  leave,  the  quicker  we 
get  out  of  Searles." 

"  But — but  maybe  Jeff's  tired,"  suggested  Polly 
timidly. 

Patton  gave  her  a  warning  glance.  "  /  know  he's 
tired,"  he  answered.  "  But  we  won't  have  to  rush. 
We  can  take  it  easy,  and  only  travel  at  night.  If 
we  wait  around  here,  people're  sure  to  begin  trying 
to  find  out  where  you've  been  and  what  you've  been 
doing.  The  whole  town  knows  you've  been  on  a 
long  prospecting  trip — I  heard  it  when  I  came.  So 
(just  as  you  said  yourself  a  while  ago)  first  thing 
you  know,  we'll  have  a  regular  gang  on  our  trail." 


The  Boomerang  93 

Blandy  nodded,  more  than     half-convinced. 

"  And  when  we've  got  our  ore,"  went  on  Pat- 
ton,  "  I'll  go  to  Los  Angeles  with  you.  I'm  the 
man  that  can  advise  you  when  it  comes  to  a 
lease." 

In  the  end  Blandy  agreed  to  an  immediate  trip  to 
the  mine. 

But  next  morning  it  was  he  who  set  to  work  pre 
paring  for  the  journey.  Patton  made  off  down  the 
street  almost  immediately  after  breakfast,  and  dis 
appeared  into  one  of  the  half-dozen  drinking-places 
of  the  town.  When  he  did  not  return  at  noontime, 
Blandy  consulted  Polly. 

"Don't  you  think  I'd  better  go  find  him?"  he 
asked.  "  You  see  he  might  take  a  glass  or  two  and 
git  to  blabbin'." 

Patton  was  found  at  Rourke's.  Outside  the  re 
sort,  Blandy  turned  upon  him.  "  Say !  You're  up 
to  your  old  game,  ain't  you,  Patton  ?  "  he  demanded 
curtly. 

Patton  tried  to  laugh  the  matter  off.  "  Oh,  you 
don't  understand,"  he  declared  confidentially.  He 
started  homeward  beside  the  other  man. 

The  leather  of  Blandy's  face  was  pale.  Out  of 
the  paleness  burned  his  wrathful  eyes.  "  Don't  try 
to  soft-soap  me,"  he  went  on.  "  I  know  now  where 
that  remittance  of  yourn  goes.  But  you  got  to  cut 
it  out!  I  ain't  a-helpin'  you  to  a  fortune  so's  you 
can  hurt  Polly  by  slatherin'  money  on  some  other 
woman." 

Patton  gave  a  loud  laugh.  "  Don't  think  I'm  a 
fool,"  he  answered.  As  they  entered  the  front  room 
of  the  restaurant,  he  gave  Blandy  a  look  of  hate. 


94  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  You  aren't  giving  me  a  claim  because  you  like  me. 
You're  doing  it  on  Polly's  account." 

"That's  right,"  declared  Blandy.  "What  in 
thunderation  is  there  about  you  that'd  make  any 
man  hand  you  over  half  a  million  ?  " 

"  So  !  You  admit  it !  Oh,  I'm  on  to  your  game ! 
This  is  some  more  of  your  tattle.  You  want  to 
make  trouble  between  me  and  my  wife !  " 

Blandy  took  a  long  step  forward.  "  That's  a  lie," 
he  said.  "  It's  just  what  I  don't  aim  to  do.  You 
and  me  had  a  talk  on  this  question  the  night  you  got 
married.  Have  you  forgot  that?  Wai,  when  you 
cash  in  on  the  claim,  I'm  a-goin'  to  see  that  you 
cut  that  friend — • — " 

The  swinging-door  opened,  and  Polly  came  in 
from  the  kitchen.  "  Harv !  "  she  faltered.  "  Jeff !  " 
Then,  she  fell  silent,  watching  them  with  troubled 
eyes. 

Blandy 's  face  broke  into  a  reassuring  grin. 
"  Say !  we're  excited  over  nothin',"  he  declared- 
"  Don't  you  worry,  Polly.  Patton,  I  hired  the  only 
two  burros  in  town  this  mornin',  and  bought  some 
grub  and  feed." 

There  were  no  further  words  between  the  two  men, 
only  a  coldness  that  was  barely  noticeable.  After 
the  midday  meal,  Patton  even  helped  with  the  pack 
ing.  Polly,  entering  their  bedroom  hastily,  found 
him  standing  on  a  bench  looking  at  the  labels  of 
some  bottles  on  the  medicine-shelf. 

"  Be  careful  what  you  take,"  she  cautioned. 
"  That  bottle  of  mercury  tablets  is  up  there,  and  it's 
the  same  size  as  the  one  that's  got  stuff  in  it  for 
rattlesnake  bites." 


The  Boomerang  95 

"  It's  the  rattlesnake  medicine  that  I'm  hunting," 
answered  Patton  tartly. 

Polly  went  back  into  the  kitchen,  where  Blandy 
was  busy  packing  the  raisins,  crackers  and  canned 
beef.  She  looked  frightened.  "  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry 
you  and  Harvey  quarrelled,"  she  half-whispered. 
"  Please,  please  don't  have  any  more  trouble  with 
him." 

From  the  standpoint  of  beauty  there  was  little  to 
recommend  Jeff  Blandy  save  his  eyes.  Now,  as  he 
smiled  down  at  her,  his  eyes  made  up  for  all  the  defi 
ciencies  of  his  rugged  face.  "  We  was  hungry,"  he 
declared.  "  That  was  all." 

"  Jeff,"  she  said,  "  I  never  knew  how  good  you 
were.  Oh,  if  girls  only  realised  that  the  men  that 
keep  dressed  up  aren't  always  the  best  men." 

"  And  on  the  other  hand,"  he  observed,  "  I've  saw 
some  pretty  bad  men  in  bum  clothes." 

Late  that  night,  the  burros  were  packed,  one  with 
provisions  and  feed,  and  enough  heavy  sacking  for  a 
small  sun-shelter ;  the  other  with  the  large,  flat-sided 
water  canteens.  When  the  start  was  made,  Polly 
told  the  two  men  a  whispered  good-bye  from  the 
front  porch.  And  as  the  burros  were  headed  north 
ward,  Blandy  leading  one  and  Patton  the  other,  she 
watched  the  little  pack-train  leave  the  town.  The 
light  of  the  stars,  reflected  on  the  grey  of  the  sage 
and  the  yellow-grey  of  the  desert  floor,  made  the 
departure  plain  for  a  long  distance,  though  only  as 
so  many  moving  black  specks.  She  waited  until  the 
specks  dropped  from  sight  into  a  far-off  swale. 

Then  she  ran  through  the  dining-room  to  her  bed 
room,  struck  a  match,  dragged  a  bench  under  the 


96  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

medicine-shelf,  climbed  upon  it  and  let  her  light  shine 
in  turn  upon  each  of  the  bottles  standing  in  a  row. 

The  match  went  out.  With  a  murmured  exclama 
tion  she  got  down,  searched  for  her  hat  in  the  dark 
room,  found  it  and  put  it  on,  caught  up  a  yellow 
sun  umbrella,  and  locked  both  entrances  to  the  house. 
A  moment  later,  she  was  hurrying  across  the  street, 
over  the  track  and  into  the  desert. 

She  soon  came  up  to  the  men  and  the  burros,  trav 
elling  silently  forward.  But  at  first  she  kept  a  little 
way  behind,  like  a  scared  child,  for  she  shrank  from 
letting  Patton  know  that  she  was  there.  Presently, 
however,  summoning  courage,  she  went  forward  to 
his  side.  "  H-Harvey,"  she  stammered.  Her  face 
was  white  in  the  dimness. 

He  came  short;  Blandy,  too.  Both  stared  at  her 
in  wonderment. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  Patton  demanded,  resent 
ment  in  his  tone.  "  It's  too  late  for  you  to  be  gad 
ding  around  alone." 

"  Harv,  I'm  going  with  you.  Walking  isn't  hard 
work — not  any  harder  than  the  work  in  the  kitchen 
was.  Jeff,  you  don't  care  if  I  come  along,  do  you?  " 

"  You  bet  I  don't,"  Blandy  answered  heartily. 
"You'll  be  fine  comp'ny." 

"  Nonsense !  "  scolded  Patton. 

"  Wai,  she's  the  third  pardner,"  reminded  Blandy. 
"  When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  she's  got  a  right 
to  look  over  her  claim.  If  she  gits  tired,  she  can  ride 
a  donk.  But  a-course  " — his  tone  became  more  seri 
ous — "  there's  one  thing  agin  your  goin' :  We  three 
is  the  only  people  that  know  where  that  strike  is; 
if  anything  was  to  happen  to  the  bunch  of  us,  there'd 


The  Boomerang  97 

be  a  lost  mine  for  shore."  He  clucked  to  his  burro 
and  walked  on. 

His  words  produced  a  curious  effect  upon  Patton, 
who  stayed  where  he  was,  silently  looking  after 
Blandy  until  the  latter  was  well  beyond  earshot. 

"  Harvey !  "  Polly's  voice  was  tremulous  with  ap 
peal,  "  I  don't  want  to  be  left  behind  alone." 

Patton  gave  her  a  quick,  sidewise  glance.  "  All 
right,"  he  said  brusquely.  "  You  can  come." 

To  show  that  she  was  equal  to  the  journey,  Polly 
kept  in  the  lead  all  the  remainder  of  that  night,  flit 
ting  light  footed,  like  the  spirit  of  some  good  guiding 
angel. 

Shortly  after  dawn,  Blandy  called  a  halt  and  pre 
pared  for  a  rest  of  several  hours.  He  fixed  the  square 
of  sacking  to  the  ground  by  two  of  its  corners. 
The  other  two  corners  he  fastened  to  mesquite  stakes. 
The  result  was  an  improvised  tent  which  faced  the 
north.  This  shelter  was  for  Patton  and  Polly. 
When  it  was  ready,  Blandy  took  the  yellow  umbrella, 
raised  it,  went  aside  to  where  were  the  canteens,  and 
lay  down. 

By  noon,  it  was  impossible  to  sleep  because  of  the 
heat,  which  was  so  intense  that  the  grey,  incrusted 
ground  burned  the  hand  that  touched  it.  The  trav 
ellers  did. not  set  forth  at  once.  Seated  under  their 
shelters,  they  looked  out  upon  a  round  lake  that 
glimmered  in  a  near-by  hollow  of  the  desert — a  lake 
encircled  with  a  beach  of  amethyst. 

With  that  sheet  of  water  glistening  before  him, 
Patton  drank  often  and  deep.  And  when,  at  four, 
he  rose  with  the  others  to  continue  on,  he  slung  one 
of  the  large  canteens  over  a  shoulder.  The  glimmer- 


98  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

ing  lake  moved  as  the  pack-train  moved,  occupying 
one  hollow,  then  dissolving  to  appear  in  another,  and 
still  another.  Patton  lifted  his  canteen  to  his  lips 
every  half  mile. 

Blandy  noted  it.  "  Say !  You'll  have  to  learn  to 
be  careful  about  your  drinkin'  if  you  go  out  much 
on  the  desert,"  he  warned.  "  More'n  one  tender 
foot  has  gone  luny  for  water  and  took  to  follerin' 
them  spook  lakes.  Chaw  on  a  raisin  for  a 
change." 

No  halt  was  made  for  supper.  The  three  ate  as 
they  travelled.  The  sun  declined.  The  last  shining 
sheet  of  water  disappeared.  Twilight  came,  and 
with  twilight,  the  stars,  which  burned  large  and 
white  in  the  cloudless  expanse  of  the  heavens. 
Through  the  starlight,  through  the  late  moonlight, 
and  through  the  dawn  of  a  second  day,  they  trudged 
on. 

It  was  shortly  after  sunrise  that  a  giant  yucca 
came  into  sight  ahead.  It  was  branched  on  either 
side ;  and  from  a  distance  looked  like  some  huge  figure 
that  had  been  caught  in  action  and  suddenly  trans 
fixed. 

"  Hello !  "  cried  Blandy.  "  My  friend  John  Jen 
kins  !  We're  half-way." 

"Half-way?"  repeated  Patton.  "Why,  that 
spur  doesn't  look  twenty  miles  off." 

"  It  just  happens  that  you're  a-rubberin'  in  the 
wrong  direction,"  said  Blandy.  "  The  spur  we're 
a-goin'  to  ain't  over  that  way:  It's  off  where 
them  little,  puffy  clouds  is.  Say,  you'd  better  never 
try  to  navigate  this  desert  alone." 

Arrived  at  the  yucca,  Polly  was  glad  enough  to 


The  Boomerang  99 

pause,  and  before  the  two  men  had  finished  erecting 
the  shelter  of  sacking,  she  had  crawled  under  it. 

"  Tuckered,  ain't  you  ?  "  questioned  Blandy  kindly. 
"  Wai,  we  been  makin'  fine  time,  that's  why.  We'll 
be  drinkin'  outen  that  bowl  in  the  rock  at  sun-up 
day  after  to-morrow." 

He  made  a  cache  of  feed  and  provisions,  and 
buried  two  of  the  large  canteens ;  then  stretched 
himself  with  his  head  in  the  shade  of  the  yellow 
umbrella,  and  was  soon  snoring. 

Patton  did  not  lie  down,  but  sat,  brooding,  a 
canteen  in  his  hand.  And,  presently,  after  making 
certain  that  Polly's  breathing  was  deep  and  regular, 
he  rose  cautiously.  Some  distance  away  were  the 
burros,  standing  with  lowered  heads  and  long  ears 
flopped  to  either  side.  Patton  stole  in  their  direc 
tion.  And  when  he  reached  the  animals,  set  to  pack 
ing  one.  He  was  soon  done.  With  a  last  glance 
toward  shelter  and  umbrella,  he  set  off  northward 
at  a  good  gait. 

The  atmosphere  was  unusually  clear.  It  was  this 
that  had  made  the  mountains  seem  such  a  short 
distance  away.  Patton  had  carefully  marked  the 
position  of  the  right  spur.  He  tramped  forward 
determinedly,  though  by  noon  the  ground  under 
his  feet  fairly  scorched  his  shoes.  The  afternoon 
dragged  its  length  in  moments  that  seemed,  each 
more  unendurably  hot  than  the  last,  and  with  lakes 
glimmering  from  near-by  hollows,  he  drank  at  every 
rod.  Sunset  came  at  last,  bringing  a  welcome  cool 
ness.  Now  half  of  his  journey  alone  was  done.  He 
stopped  to  feed  the  burro  and  satisfy  his  own 
hunger,  after  which  he  hurried  on. 


100  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

The  sun  was  standing  high  over  the  mountains 
the  next  day  when,  fagged,  but  triumphant,  Patton 
began  the  ascent  of  the  gentle,  beach-like  slope  that 
stretched  between  him  and  the  base  of  the  spur  he 
sought.  The  range  that  rose  ahead  of  him  showed 
not  even  a  growth  of  stunted  sage  upon  its  ruffled 
side.  For  here  the  massive  barrier  was  like  a  burned- 
out  kiln,  brick-red,  cinder-black  and  ashen-grey.  He 
skirted  it  for  an  hour  or  more,  the  donkey  at  a  trot. 
Suddenly,  ahead  of  him,  a  great,  black  bird  rose 
from  the  ground  with  a  harsh  cry  and  an  awkward 
flapping  of  its  wings.  Patton  ran  forward. 

There  was  the  bowl,  as  round  as  if  it  had  been 
fashioned  by  deft  hands,  and  nearly  full  of  water. 
Patton  had  swallowed  the  last  mouthful  of  his 
canteen  supply  early  that  morning.  Now,  he  sank 
to  his  knees,  bent  his  head  and  almost  buried  his 
face  in  the  pool. 

His  thirst  satisfied,  he  climbed  the  slope  beyond. 
Ten  minutes  of  hot  toiling,  and  he  came  upon 
Blandy's  location-notice,  scrawled  on  a  soiled  scrap 
of  paper,  and  tacked  to  a  crooked  mesquite  stake. 
He  tore  up  the  notice,  and  jerked  the  stake  loose. 
Then,  white,  for  all  the  effort  of  climbing,  he  stooped 
and  pressed  both  palms  against  the  outcropping  of 
quartz  at  his  feet,  his  fingers  into  its  crevices.  It 
was  as  if  he  were  clutching  prey. 

"  It's  all  here ! — all  here !  "  he  said  aloud,  huskily. 

Back  at  the  bowl  once  more,  he  filled  a  canteen 
and  hung  it  to  the  pack-saddle,  took  another  long 
drink  himself,  and  let  the  donkey  have  all  that  re 
mained.  Then,  reaching  into  an  inside  pocket  of 
his  shirt,  he  brought  out  something  that  was  wrapped 


The  Boomerang 

in  a  piece  of  newspaper.  He  unwound  the  paper, 
disclosing  a  small  bottle,  which  he  uncorked.  And 
having  measured  the  size  of  the  bowl  with  his  eye,  he 
dropped  three  round,  white  tablets  into  it.  This 
done,  he  dampened  a  handkerchief  from  the  canteen 
and  laid  it,  folded,  upon  his  hair.  For  the  long 
miles  in  the  sun  had  told  on  him,  and  there  was  a 
feeling  of  heat  and  pressure  at  the  top  of  his  skull. 
A  few  minutes  later,  he  set  off  once  more,  due 
west,  completely  avoiding  the.Searles  route  to  the 
southward. 

When  Polly  awoke,  the  sun  was  already  down,  and 
twilight  was  settling.  Fearing  that  she  had  de 
layed  the  departure,  she  sprang  to  her  feet.  But 
Blandy  was  still  snoring.  And  close  at  hand  was  a 
saddleless  burro,  head  lowered  and  fast  asleep. 

She  began  to  call :     "  Harvey !     Oh,  Harv !  " 

The  snoring  ceased.  The  yellow  umbrella  top 
pled.  Blandy's  tall  figure  rose.  "  Gosh !  but  ain't 
I  snoozed !  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  called  again:  "Harvey!  Where  are  you? 
Jeff !  One  of  the  burros  is  gone !  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  he's  there,  all  Tight,"  answered 
Blandy.  "  You  know,  a  donk's  the  same  colour  as 
the  ground." 

"  But  he  isn't  there,"  persisted  Polly.  "  Or  Har 
vey,  either."  And  as  Blandy  hastened  by,  she  joined 
him. 

When  they  halted,  each  scanned  the  desert.  Then, 
"  You're  right,"  Blandy  admitted  gravely.  "  That 
blamed  burro  must  a-strayed.  I  never  did  like  the 
little  cuss.  He  had  a  bad  look  in  one  eye." 


,102  Tlie  Justice  of  Gideon 

She  raised  an  anxious  face  to  his.  "  The  donkey 
isn't  to  blame,"  she  declared.  "  Harvey's  left  us." 

"  No  !    Why  ?    Sore  about  your  comin'  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  to  come." 

Blandy  strode  over  to  the  packs.  And  a  first 
glimpse  told  him  that  Polly  was  right.  Feed  and 
provisions  were  missing,  and  all  but  one  of  the  un- 
cached  canteens. 

"Jeff!"  Polly  had  followed  him,  and  she  spoke 
in  a  frightened  whisper.  "  Don't  drink  any  of  this 
water  till  you've  given  the  donkey  some." 

Blandy  stared  down  at  her.  "  Why  not? "  he 
asked,  perplexed. 

"  Don't— don't  ask  me,  Jeff." 

His  face  went  grim  with  understanding.  "  I 
guess  I  understand,"  he  said. 

The  canteen  that  Patton  had  left  behind  him  was 
thoroughly  shaken  and  the  donkey  was  given  a  gen 
erous  drink.  Then  Blandy  left  the  camp  to  gather 
mesquite  roots.  When  he  returned,  a  half-hour 
later,  the  little  animal  was  resting,  head  swagged 
low.  But  while  Blandy  was  watching  him,  the 
shaggy  head  came  up  and  the  donkey  brayed — • 
loud  and  long,  after  which  he  fell  to  yawning,  ears 
flopped  to  either  side  lazily.  Plainly  the  water  had 
done  him  no  harm. 

Blandy  set  to  work  to  build  a  fire.  "  You  see," 
he  said,  "  Patton  might  change  his  mind  about  leav- 
in'  us." 

By  now,  twilight  had  merged  into  night.  On 
every  side  stretched  the  desert,  as  level,  dark  and 
melancholy  as  a  sea.  The  mountain  range  to  the 
northward,  with  its  charred  front  one  great  inky 


The  Boomerang  103 

shadow,  was  a  dead  island,  rising  out  of  a  black 
waste  of  water.  Blandy  lighted  the  beacon,  and  it 
flamed  up  like  the  signal  of  someone  shipwrecked. 

They  kept  the  fire  burning  steadily.  They  lis 
tened  for  far-off  cries.  But  they  heard  no  cries, 
only  constant  movements  in  the  blackness  about  the 
camp.  Heretofore,  the  desert  had  withheld  nearly 
all  evidence  of  animate  things.  Now,  sitting  and 
waiting,  they  caught  the  soft  pad,  pad  of  dog-like 
feet,  the  flutter  of  small  wings. 

At  dawn,  Blandy  set  off  on  a  hunt  for  tracks.  He 
first  circled  the  camp.  The  only  outgoing  trail  he 
found  ended  near-by  in  the  dry  bed  of  a  stream. 
He  followed  the  stream-bed  toward  Searles.  When 
he  had  gone  several  miles,  he  retraced  his  steps  and 
passed  the  camp  on  his  way  toward  the  mountains. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  he  returned,  tired  out. 
But  he  came  into  sight  waving  his  hat  cheerily. 
"  It's  all  right,"  he  announced.  "  He  went  toward 
the  mine." 

While  they  were  preparing  to  break  camp  and 
follow  Patton,  Polly  saw  that  Blandy  was  digging 
up  one  of  the  two  canteens  he  had  cached. 

"  On  the  way  home,  Jeff,  can  we  make  it  from  here 
to  Searles  on  one?"  she  asked. 

"  Easy." 

"  And  from  the  mine  to  here,  Jeff?  " 

"  We'll  ketch  a  canteenful  where  it  drips  into  that 
bowl  in  the  rock." 

When  they  started  forward,  they  were  compelled 
to  go  slowly,  not  only  because  of  Blandy's  weariness, 
but  because  Polly  was  foot-sore,  though  at  first  she 
strove  to  conceal  the  fact  by  keeping  in  the  rear. 


104  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

At  the  end  of  five  or  six  miles,  however,  she  found 
herself  unable  to  go  farther. 

"Oh,  I  thought  I'd  be  all  right  after  so  much 
rest,"  she  declared,  out  of  patience  with  her  own 
weakness. 

Blandy  was  all  gentle  consideration.  "  I  don't 
wonder  your  feet  hurt  you,"  he  answered.  "  You 
ain't  used  to  so  much  walkin'.  Now,  just  you 
wait." 

Off  came  pack-saddle,  load  and  all.  Then  the 
saddle-blanket  was  replaced,  with  the  shelter  sacking 
on  top  of  it,  folded  to  make  a  comfortable  seat.  And 
soon  Polly  was  mounted  on  the  donkey.  Behind  her, 
balanced  carefully,  were  two  large  canteens,  a  flour 
sack  of  provisions,  and  feed  for  the  burro.  She  held 
the  yellow  umbrella  over  her  head. 

They  travelled  until  darkness  made  it  impossible 
to  follow  Patton's  tracks,  when  camp  was  made 
again. 

"  But  if  Harvey  went  straight  to  the  mine,"  ar 
gued  Polly,  "  What's  the  use  of  trailing  him  ?  Why 
not  just  go  ahead?" 

"  For  the  reason  that  yesterday  Patton  had  the 
mine  located  thirty  mile  left  of  where  it  is.  S'pose 
he  was  to  git  the  same  idear  again?  " 

Once  more  Blandy  hunted  mesquite  roots.  And 
far  into  the  night  his  signal-fire  lit  the  swells  and 
hollows  of  the  desert. 

At  break  of  day  they  took  up  their  journey  once 
more,  with  Polly  riding  again,  and  drowsing  now 
and  then  as  the  donkey  picked  his  way  along. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  morning  when  a  low 
cry  from  Blandy  suddenly  startled  her  into  wake- 


The  Boomerang  105 

fulness.  He  had  come  short,  halting  the  donkey, 
and  was  examining  the  ground. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"  Here's  a  man's  tracks  and  a  burro's,  crossin' 
this  trail  at  right  angles,  and  goin'  west.  They're 
fresher 'n  the  ones  we  been  follerin'." 

"Harvey's?" 

"  Shore." 

"  What '11  we  do,  Jeff?  " 

"  Strike  out  after  him.  He's  makin'  for  that 
wrong  spur !  " 

They  turned  aside,  and  started  off  in  the  new  di 
rection. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  morning,  they  were 
headed  almost  due  west.  But  at  noon  Patton's  foot 
prints  led  him  toward  the  north-west,  then  toward 
the  north — directly  away  from  Searles. 

Shortly  after  noon,  they  made  an  alarming  dis 
covery.  It  was  Patton's  donkey,  stretched  lifeless  on 
the  baked  ground.  Away  from  the  carcass  a  grey 
wolf-form  raced,  and  was  lost  in  the  grey  of  sand 
and  sage. 

"  Short  of  water,"  said  Blandy,  and  shook  his  head. 

Polly  covered  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  poor  little  thing !  " 
she  whispered.  "  Jeff,  give  mine  a  good  drink." 

He  came  to  stand  beside  her.  "  Polly,"  he  said, 
"  I  can't.  And  if  we're  goin'  to  keep  follerin'  this 
trail  and  locate  Patton,  this  little  animal  " — he  laid 
a  hand  on  the  donkey's  neck — "  has  got  to  go." 

"  Are  we  short  of  water?  " 

"  There's  a  good  deal  left.  But  I  ain't  give  the 
donkey  a  swaller  since  yesterday  noon.  We  got  to 
be  savin'.  It's  likely  that  Patton'll  need  water  bad." 


106  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Soon  the  tracks  they  were  following  turned  due 
east. 

"  He  run  outen  water,"  Blandy  explained  gravely. 
"  He's  headed  back  to  the  bowl." 

But  when  they,  too,  turned  about  to  start  back, 
their  burro  abruptly  stopped,  and  refused  to  be 
coaxed  or  urged  forward. 

"  Yas,  git  down,"  said  Blandy  as  Polly  prepared 
to  dismount.  "  And  go  on  for  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile.  I'll  bring  the  things." 

She  obeyed,  fairly  running  to  escape  the  sound  of 
the  dreaded  pistol-shot.  When  he  came  trudging 
up  to  her,  carrying  a  canteen  and  the  provisions 
sack,  she  was  seated  in  a  heap,  her  face  hid  in  her 
hands. 

"There!  There!"  he  said  consolingly.  "We 
had  to  leave  him." 

They  hurried  forward  as  fast  as  they  were  able, 
Blandy  compelling  Polly  to  take  a  swallow  of  water 
every  little  while,  but  drinking  none  himself.  Be 
fore  long  Patton's  trail  was  giving  them  much  con 
cern.  It  veered  to  the  right  for  a  few  rods,  then 
it  veered  to  the  left,  winding  crazily. 

"  'Fraid  he  was  just  a  little  off  his  head,"  said 
Blandy.  "  Nothin'  to  worry  about,  though.  We'll 
find  him." 

But  their  concern  steadily  increased  as  they  trav 
elled.  For  by  late  afternoon,  with  the  bowl  still  at 
some  distance,  they  found  no  more  footprints  to  fol 
low — only  two  winding  marks.  Patton  was  drag 
ging  himself  forward  on  his  knees! 

They  came  upon  his  hat  next.  An  hour  later,  the 
sun  glittered  on  something  a  short  way  in  advance. 


The  Boomerang  107 

It  was  a  canteen.  Its  woolen  covering  had  been 
torn  from  it  in  ragged  bits  that  strewed  the  ground. 
And  about  the  round  opening  were  the  marks  of 
teeth. 

"  Hurry !  "  breathed  Blandy. 

After  that,  neither  one  spoke,  but  stumbled  on, 
Blandy  half-supporting  Polly,  both  watching  eagerly 
for  a  moving  speck  in  the  narrowing  stretch  between 
them  and  the  base  of  the  spur  ahead. 

At  sundown,  they  neared  the  bowl.  Blandy  be 
gan  to  call :  "  Patton !  Oh,  Patton!  Are  you 
there?  " 

A  few  steps  farther,  he  came  short,  putting  out 
an  arm  to  stop  Polly. 

For  Patton  was  there,  stretched  flat  upon  his  back, 
his  arms  thrown  wide  to  either  side.  And  beside  him, 
with  its  black  wings  outspread,  lay  a  great  bird, 
claws  up  and  feathers  ruffled. 


BUENAS    NOCHES 

SCARLET  fuchsias  on  a  swaying  branch  frec 
kled  the  'dobe  wall  behind  Loretta's  perch. 
The  parrot,  her  claws  wide  apart,  her  bril 
liant  rudder  tilting  to  balance  her  grey  body, 
industriously  snapped  at  the  blossoms.  One  secured 
at  last,  she  turned  slowly  about  and,  with  infinite 
care,  let  it  drop  upon  the  open  pages  of  Padre 
Alonzo's  book. 

The  padre  brushed  the  flower  away  and  glanced  up. 

"  Buenos  dias,  senor!  "  clacked  Loretta ;  "  buenos 
dias!  buenos  dias!  buenos  dias!  " 

"  Good-day  to  thyself,"  retorted  the  padre.  He 
spoke  in  Spanish,  shaking  a  stout  finger.  "  And 
tear  not  the  flowers  again.  They  be  the  last  of  the 
kind  till  after  the  New  Year.  So  take  warning,  I 
say,  lest  thou  find  thyself  thrust  without  the  garden." 

Loretta  recognised  displeasure  in  his  voice.  She 
mumbled  an  inquiring  "  Ga-a-wk!  ga-a-wk! "  and 
shifted  thoughtfully  from  foot  to  foot.  But,  pres 
ently,  the  padre  having  resumed  his  reading,  she 
turned  once  more  to  catch  at  the  swaying  branch. 

When  a  second  fuchsia  came  fluttering  down  to 
his  hand,  Padre  Alonzo  uncrossed  his  sandals  and 
rose.  "  Oh !  oh !  oh !  "  he  cried,  wagging  his  close- 
cropped  head  so  vigorously  that  the  very  beads  of 
his  rosary  tinkled  together.  "  Thou  art  the  naughti 
est  bird  in  all  of  California !  What  if  Padre  Anzar 

108 


Buenos  Noches  109 

finds  thee  despoiling  his  plant?  He  will  put  thee 
again  where  thou  must  fight  to  keep  thy  feathers — 
in  the  kitchen  with  the  cats  !  " 

At  the  mention  of  cats  a  startling  change  came 
over  the  parrot.  Her  plumage  ruffled,  her  eyes  be 
gan  to  roll,  she  straightened  on  the  perch,  uttering 
hoarse  cries  of  fear  and  defiance. 

"  Then  be  good,"  he  counselled,  "  be  good.  Or  off 
thou'lt  likely  go.  Me-e-ow !  me-e-ow !  " 

And  now  Loretta  moved  nearer,  anxious  for 
friendly  terms.  "  Dame  la  mano"  she  suggested ; 
"  a-a-aw,  dame  la  mano.  A-a-awl  a-a-aw!  "  She 
balanced  tremblingly  on  one  leg,  curling  the  other 
under  her. 

Padre  Alonzo  put  the  stout  finger  into  the  prof 
fered  claw.  "  So,  so,"  he  said.  "  And  I  shall  not 
tattle.  But  tell  me:  What  wouldst  make  thee  for 
get  to  use  thy  sharp  pruning  shears?  An  apple? 
or  seeds  ?  or  one  of  Gabrielda's  sweet  bis — " 

Loretta  perked  her  head  to  one  side.  "  To-o-ny, 
To-o-ny,  To-o-ny,'9  she  droned  coaxingly. 

The  padre  thrust  his  thumbs  under  the  white  cord 
of  his  girdle  and  broke  into  a  guffaw.  "  Thou 
jade !  "  he  teased.  "  Wilt  have  Tony,  eh?  Well,  I 
go  to  find  him."  He  gathered  in  his  brown  cassock, 
preparatory  to  stepping  over  the  cacti  here  border 
ing  the  garden  path.  "  But  look  you,  if  he  comes 
scrape  not  the  gilt  from  the  wires  of  his  pretty  cage." 

Another  threatening  shake  of  the  finger,  and  the 
padre  crossed  the  low,  spiked  hedge  and  waddled 
away  through  the  sun. 

When  he  came  into  sight  a  moment  later  round 
the  dun  wall  of  the  mission,  he  carried  a  canary  at 


110  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

his  shoulder.  "  E-oo,  e-oo,"  he  cooed,  pattering  for 
ward.  "  Loretta  wished  thy  company.  Sst !  sst ! 
She  is  bad  after  thee,  Tony!  But  be  wary,  little 
one,  be  wary." 

The  advice  was  wholly  ignored.  For,  spying  the 
parrot,  Tony  was  instantly  transformed  from  a 
silent,  dumpy  ball  of  yellow  to  a  slim,  dapper  song 
ster  with  a  swelling  throat. 

Loretta  greeted  him  with  uproarious  laughter,  and 
a  jargon  of  Spanish,  patois,  but  triumphant.  She 
paced  the  horizontal  piece  that  gave  her  perch  the 
form  of  a  cross.  She  pu^r-red  and  gu-r-red.  She 
swung  by  her  curved  beak  and  one  leathery  foot, 
shrilling  her  "  Buenos  dias,  senor!  "  Then,  as  the 
padre  hung  the  cage  to  a  nail  in  the  trellis  built 
against  the  wall,  she  changed  her  performance  to 
the  clamorous  repeating  of  a  mass. 

Padre  Alonzo  was  shocked.  "  Sst !  sst !  "  he 
chided ;  "  thou  wicked  big-ears  ! " 

The  noon  angelus  was  ringing.  He  caught  up 
book  and  gown.  But  before  going  he  pulled  at 
Loretta's  gaudy  tail  not  unkindly,  and  chuckled  as 
she  edged  toward  Tony  with  many  a  naive  and  fetch 
ing  cock  of  her  grey  head. 

High  at  the  garden's  centre,  nailed  to  a  massive 
tree  of  wood,  stood  out  the  Sacrifice.  From  behind, 
fir  and  pine  thrust  their  long  green  boughs,  as  if 
eager  to  screen  that  torn  and  unclad  shape.  From 
below,  jasmine  and  geranium,  carnation  and  rose, 
sent  upward  an  unfailing  incense. 

That  way,  in  the  heat  of  mid-afternoon,  came 
Padre  Anzar.  Thin-lipped,  he  was,  and  hollow- 


Buenos  Noches  111 

eyed.  In  one  hand  he  held  a  trowel,  in  the  other  a 
knife.  Down  the  front  of  his  brown  cassock,  min 
gling  at  knee  height  with  red  brick  stains  from  the 
chapel  floor,  were  touches  of  fresh  earth.  Anzar 
the  priest  was  for  the  moment  Anzar  the  gardener. 

He  walked  slowly,  here  stooping  to  right  a  stalk 
or  jerk  a  weed,  there  stretching  to  pick  a  fading 
orange  leaf  from  where  it  marred  the  glaucous  sheen 
of  its  fellows.  Fronting  the  figure,  he  paused  long 
enough  to  whisper  a  prayer  and  make  the  holy  sign. 
Then  he  rambled  on,  busy  with  trowel  and  blade. 

But  presently  he  came  to  a  full  and  startled  halt. 
He  was  beside  the  trellis  up  which  climbed  his  treas 
ured  fuchsia.  The  cross-like  perch  of  the  parrot 
was  beyond  the  bordering  cacti,  and  unoccupied. 
Near-by,  upon  its  nail,  hung  the  canary  cage,  with 
Tony  going  upstairs  and  down  untiringly,  eyeing 
his  visitor  with  no  uneasiness,  greeting  him,  on  the 
contrary,  with  saucy  chirps.  While  underneath, 
spotting  the  ground  in  some  profusion,  and  cast  as 
it  were  at  the  feet  of  the  garden's  singer,  were  scores 
of  scarlet  blossoms ! 

The  padre's  look  travelled  from  the  scattered  flow 
ers  to  the  vacant  perch,  from  the  perch  to  the  naked 
branches  swaying  against  the  trellis,  from  the 
branches  to  the  wide,  warm  top  of  the  'dobe  wall. 
And  there  was  Loretta,  patrolling  in  unconcealed  ap^ 
prehension. 

The  instant  he  caught  sight  of  her  he  knew  her 
guilt.  He  pursed  his  thin  lips.  Then,  letting  fall 
trowel  and  knife,  he  straddled  the  hedge. 

"  I'll  wring  thy  neck  for  thee ! "  he  vowed. 

A  sandal  in  the  trellis,  a  light  spring,  and  his  head 


112  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

came  even  with  her.  She  backed  away,  raising  her 
wings  a  little,  and  gawking  in  protest.  He  took  a 
fresh  grip  on  the  wall,  reached  out  and  caught  her 
like  a  chicken — by  both  legs. 

Wild  screeches  rang  through  the  garden,  screeches 
that  put  the  sparrows  to  flight  and  set  the  canary 
cheeping  in  fear.  These  were  punctuated  next  by 
raucous  appeals  for  "  Tony "  or  gurgley  parrot 
language. 

The  padre  was  down  now,  and  standing  on  the 
path  again.  But  he  was  not  fulfilling  his  threat. 
Instead,  he  was  viewing  his  captive  angrily,  yet  in 
considerable  indecision. 

Loretta,  on  the  other  hand,  was  at  no  loss  for  n 
course  of  action.  Between  cries  for  the  canary,  de 
mands  for  a  handshake,  and  reiterated  "  Good-days" 
she  was  vigorously  trying  her  beak  upon  the  padre's 
fist. 

But  now  a  new  factor  upon  the  scene.  Round  the 
mission  wall,  waddling  fast  and  propelling  himself 
by  his  swinging  arms,  appeared  Padre  Alonzo. 
"  Is't  the  cats  ?  "  he  asked  as  he  came  on ;  "  oh,  la ! 
la!  is't  the  cats?" 

Padre  Anzar  half-turned,  scowling.  For  answer, 
he  only  pointed  to  the  severed  fuchsias. 

The  other  looked,  covering  any  regret  with  simu 
lated  astonishment.  "  These  were  dropping  of  them 
selves  yesterday,"  he  began  between  breaths.  "  They 
< — they  fell  fast  in  the  night — er  ?  "  He  came  beside 
the  other  now,  partly  to  support  the  suspended  Lor 
etta  in  his  hands.  "  I  saw  them — truly." 

"  Bah !  "  And  Padre  Anzar  gave  Loretta  such 
a  shake  that  she  tumbled,  squawking  and  sputter- 


Buenas  Noches  113 

ing,  from  the  other's  hands  and  again  hung,  heels 
above  head,  like  a  chicken  caught  for  the  block. 

"  She  did  but  what  the  wind  hadst  done,"  fal 
tered  Padre  Alonzo.  "Sst!  sst!"  (This  to  the 
parrot.)  "  Such  language  from  a  lady!  " 

"  Ah-ha!  "  grunted  Padre  Anzar.  "  I  told  thee 
not  to  buy  a  bird  that  was  raised  in  a  garrison  town." 

"  To-o-nyl  To-o-nyi  "  pleaded  the  parrot.  "  A-aw, 
To-ony!  " 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on  solemnly,  addressing  her,  "  and 
thou  art  of  the  devil,  and  hast  as  many  tricks.  Twice 
I  forgave  thee — once  for  shouting  '  Fire  '  on  St. 
John's  Day  as  the  censer  passed;  again,  for  pulling 
the  feathers  out  of  Senor  Esteban's  choice  hen.  But 
thou  wilt  not  escape  now.  Now,  thou'lt  go  to  the 
kitchen  and  be  shut  in  with  Gabrielda's  black  mouser. 
There  thou  shalt  shed  some  quills." 

With  this  dire  threat,  he  departed  along  the  path, 
Loretta  still  hanging  head  down  at  his  knee. 

Scarcely  a  moment  later  a  commotion  sounded 
from  the  distance,  a  commotion  muffled  by  'dobe  wall. 
First  came  the  voice  of  old  Gabrielda,  then  the  clat 
ter  of  an  overturning  pan,  next  the  terror-stricken 
shrieks  of  Loretta.  Presently,  Padre  Anzar  ap 
peared,  his  jaw  set,  his  eyes  shining  with  the  look 
of  duty  done. 

"  She  will  be  nicely  scared  this  time,"  he  told 
Padre  Alonzo.  "  She  will  match  her  busy  beak 
with  Tomasso's  claws,  and  she  will  remember  here 
after  to  let  my  blossoms  alone." 

"  Perhaps,"  began  Padre  Alonzo,  deprecatingly, 
"  perhaps  'twere  as  well  to  take  her  out  of  tempta 
tion's  way, 


114  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Padre  Anzar  raised  his  shoulders,  strode  over  to 
knife  and  trowel  and  caught  them  up.  "  Move  her 
as  thou  wilt,"  he  said  grumpily,  "  and  the  farther 
the  better.  Tony  is  proper  for  us,  pretty  and  song 
ful.  But  that  parrot," — he  shook  his  tools  as  if 
they  were  Loretta — "  how  altogether  useless,  'and 
ugly  and  noisy  and  blasphemous  and  good-for- 
naught!" 

With  this  he  departed  into  the  shrubbery. 

Sounds  were  still  coming  from  the  kitchen — Ga- 
brielda's  cracked  voice,  Loretta's  cries,  the  sullen 
yowling  of  a  cat.  Nodding  sadly,  Padre  Alonzo 
waddled  to  the  perch,  vacant  and  formed  like  a  cross. 
This  he  lifted  and  bore  to  a  place  along  the  wall  op 
posite  the  great  crucifix,  where  climbed  no  flowers. 
Then,  smiling  gently,  as  if  with  some  tender  thought, 
he  waddled  back  to  the  trellis,  took  the  cage  from  its 
nail,  and,  returning  to  the  perch,  hung  Tony  close 
beside. 

Late  that  night,  on  coming  out  of  the  chapel, 
Padre  Alonzo  discovered  a  little  black  something 
blocking  his  way  along  the  moonlit  path.  As  he 
paused,  leaning  forward  to  peer,  the  black  some 
thing  sidled  nearer  him,  and  saluted. 

"  Buenas  noches!  "  it  said,  its  voice  monotonous 
and  human  with  grief  and  weariness ;  "  buenas 
noches!  buenas  noches!  " 

The  padre  bent  lower  and  lifted  the  parrot  to  the 
level  of  his  face.  "  Aye,  good-night  truly,  as  thou 
sayest,"  he  repeated  proudly.  "  Thou  hast  some 
wicked  words  of  a  garrison  town,  but  thou  knowest 
the  difference  between  sun  and  moon." 


Buenos  Noches  115 

"  Aw,  Lora,"  murmured  the  parrot ;  "  aw,  Lo-ra! 
Lo-ra!  " 

"  Yes,  Tomasso  has  used  thee  badly."  Padre 
Alonzo  patted  her  head.  "  I  shall  put  thee  on  thy 
perch,"  he  went  on ;  "  though  I  trust  good  Anzar  will 
not  know  it.  But  the  moon  is  up,  and  my  heart  is 
tender.  Alas !  one  does  many  things  when  the  moon 
is  up.  And  the  next  day — one  does  penance." 

He  thrust  the  parrot  into  a  fold  of  his  cassock, 
made  along  to  where  was  the  perch,  and  placed  her 
upon  it.  Then  he  stood  back,  folding  his  arms. 

"  To-morrow  is  Christmas  Day,  Loretta,"  he  said. 
"  And  what  wilt  thou  give  to  Tony?  What  can  the 
cactus  give  the  golden  poppy?  Thou  hast  only 
love,  eh?  Well,  that  is  much,  though  it  grows  from 
naught,  as  a  China  lily  blooms  from  a  bowl  of  rocks." 

He  turned,  and  found  himself  before  the  Tree. 
Fir  and  pine  massed  their  branches  behind  it,  making 
a  background  of  plushy  green.  Against  that  back 
ground,  showing  full,  hung  the  torn  and  unclad 
shape.  The  moon  glinted  upon  it,  haloing  the  head 
of  the  Crucified. 

The  padre  sank,  bowing,  and  touched  himself  in 
the  sign. 

"  Aw,  To-o-ny!  To-o-ny!  "  came  a  sleepy  croak 
at  his  back.  The  parrot  was  settling  herself  for  the 
night. 

Padre  Alonzo  rose  and  turned,  reaching  up  to 
stroke  her.  "  Good-night,  Loretta,"  he  said  fondly. 
"  There  were  none  too  lowly  for  His  gift  of  love. 
It  was  spared  to  thee,  a  yawping  fowl,  a  talker  after 
the  manner  of  the  lazy  Mexicans  that  bred  thee." 

He  turned  back  upon  the  path,  sighing  and  raising 


116  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

his  eyes  once  more.     "  But  for  high  or  low,"  he  said, 
musing  aloud,  "  the  fruit  of  that  love  is  sacrifice." 

Out  of  the  chapel  came  the  sounds  of  the  noon 
service — the  level  intoning  of  prayer,  the  rumble  and 
swell  of  the  padres'  voices.  From  her  place  before 
the  great  crucifix  Loretta  mocked  it,  only  ceasing 
now  and  then  to  answer  Tony's  warbles  with  little 
whistles  of  delight  or  to  run  her  open  bill  up  and 
down  the  bit  of  vertical  pole  dividing  her  perch. 
Yesterday's  bout  in  the  kitchen,  yesterday's  hunger 
and  fear,  the  lonely  night  ramble  along  the  path, 
the  lack  of  her  preening  friend — all  these  were  for 
gotten  in  to-day's  safety,  sunlight,  plenty,  and  com 
panionship.  And  so  she  gurried  and  purred,  a-a- 
awed  and  ga-a-awked,  shrilled  her  "  Buenos  dias!  " 
across  the  garden,  laughed  uproariously,  or  droned 
the  familiar  mass. 

In  reach  of  her  pacing,  in  touch  of  her  very  tail, 
was  the  gilded  cage,  with  Tony  darting  upstairs 
and  down,  yet  sparing  time  now  and  then  for  a  sip 
or  a  seed  or  a  saucy  chirp. 

But  of  a  sudden  the  happy  cries  of  both  birds 
were  changed  to  notes  of  alarm.  The  canary,  its 
round  eyes  starting  like  two  polished  shots,  fluttered 
high  and  low,  beating  its  yellow  wings  against  the 
wires ;  while  Loretta  squared  her  rudder,  spread  her 
pinions  and  squatted  belligerently.  For  on  the 
ground,  advancing  that  way  by  soft  steps,  and  with 
the  gloating  look  of  the  hunter  fixed  upon  the  cage, 
came  Tomasso,  the  cat. 

Quickly  the  parrot  rallied  from  her  panic.  As  if 
she  knew  that  her  arch-enemy  was  not  seeking  her 
now,  but  the  precious  bit  of  fluff  at  her  side,  she  be- 


Buenos  Noches  117 

gan  a  series  of  terror-inspiring  performances  learned 
in  the  profane  garrison  town  of  her  hatching;  she 
gave  tongue  to  dire  words  that  had  long  since  gone 
out  of  her  repertory.  Ruffled  to  twice  her  size,  she 
strutted  along  her  perch,  shieking  angry  orders  to 
mount,  flinging  out  "  Vuelta!  vuelta!  vuelta!  "  in 
husky  trooper  tones,  and  whistling  the  bugle  calls. 

It  failed  to  scare  Tomasso.  Within  the  cage,  as 
it  gently  danced  from  its  spring,  was  a  tempting 
morsel,  one  that  lured  all  the  more  through  its  effort 
to  escape.  The  cat  crept  steadily  forward,  velvet 
foot  following  velvet  foot,  across  the  shifting  dapple 
before  the  great  crucifix,  across  the  packed  gravel 
of  the  garden  path,  to  the  near  shade  of  a  gold  of 
Ophir.  There,  under  the  roses,  he  paused,  amber 
eyes  glowing,  whetted  claws  slipping  in  and  out  ex 
pectantly,  muscles  rolling  and  flexing  with  the  meas 
urement  of  the  leap. 

Then,  with  the  cunning  of  the  wild  mother,  Lor- 
ctta  adopted  new  tactics,  seeking  to  divert  him.  She 
wobbled  upon  her  perch,  giving  vent  to  bursts  of 
hysterical  laughter;  she  got  between  him  and  the 
cage  and  railed  at  him. 

His  unblinking  eyes  did  not  leave  his  quarry,  his 
muscles  kept  their  quiver  of  preparation.  At  the 
end  of  his  sleek  body,  his  long  tail  swept,  to  and  fro, 
like  a  furry  pendulum  marking  off  the  dread  time. 

By  now  other  inmates  of  the  garden  were  alarmed. 
A  blue  jay  scolded  from  the  terra-cotta  roof  of  the 
chapel.  From  the  cross-piece  of  the  tree  a  line  of 
sparrows  gave  over  their  squabbling  to  look  down. 

Loretta's  excitement  grew  wilder.  Out  of  her 
beak  poured  phrases  not  of  mass  or  military,  not  of 


118  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

good-days  or  -nights.  For  under  the  gold  of  Ophir 
the  furry  pendulum  was  standing  out  straight  and 
the  moving  muscles  down  Tomasso's  length  were 
tight  and  still.  Her  instinct  knew  the  signs,  and 
again  and  again  she  quavered  out  the  "  Fuego!  '" 
that  had  disgraced  St.  John's  Day. 

No  one  heard.  From  the  chapel  still  sounded  the 
intoning  of  prayer,  broken  by  the  rumble  and  swell 
of  the  padres'  voices. 

A  moment,  and  she  acted.  With  a  "  Ga-a-wk!  " 
of  defiance,  she  aimed  her  flight  for  the  ground,  took 
it  in  all  but  a  somersault,  and  landed  herself  directly 
before  the  astonished  Tomasso.  Then  once  again 
she  spread  her  wings  and  squared  her  rudder,  mak 
ing  ready  for  a  clash. 

Tomasso's  eyes  fell  to  her,  he  relaxed,  body  and 
tail,  spitting  resentfully. 

Quickly  emboldened,  she  came  a  hand's  breadth 
nearer  him,  snapping  at  the  black  tip  of  his  nose. 

He  retreated  to  his  haunches,  but  directed  a  swift 
cuff  her  way. 

To  this  she  responded  with  hoarse  laughter  and 
yells  of  "  To-ony!  "  as  if  she  summoned  the  canary 
to  witness  the  encouraging  progress  of  the  fight. 
Then  she  stalked  forward  once  more. 

Tomasso  wrinkled  his  face.  Their  positions  were 
unpleasantly  reversed.  In  Gabrielda's  domain  it 
was  she  who  backed  off  or  sought  the  safe  places, 
and  he  who  sallied  out  from  his  cosy  nook  by  the 
range  to  scare  her  into  noisy  protests.  While  here 
she  was  bristling  to  him.  His  paw  poised  itself  in 
mid-air. 

Loretta   grew   reckless.     Fanning   her   wings,   in 


Buenos  Noches  119 

one  lightning  stroke  she  bit  him  between  his  flat 
tened  ears. 

The  pain  of  it  enraged  Tomasso.  With  a  jump, 
he  met  her. 

Then  ensued  such  a  scene  as  the  kitchen  knew. 
There  was  mewing  and  spitting  and  yowling;  there 
was  gawking  and  squalling  and  a  rending  cry  for 
"  Tony!  "  All  the  while,  close  to  the  gold  of  Ophir, 
the  cat  and  the  parrot  went  dizzily  around  and 
around,  a  whirligig  of  grey,  scarlet  and  black — that 
tossed  off  fur  and  feathers. 

It  was  over  in  a  moment,  when  Tomasso  fled,  over 
path  and  grass,  and  into  a  dusky  recess  between  the 
trunks  of  fir  and  pine.  There  he  lay  down,  sulking 
and  grumbling  and  licking  his  paws.  But  Loretta 
stayed  where  she  was  a  little,  holding  her  head  side- 
wise  in  the  attitude  of  a  listener. 

"  Lora"  she  murmured  presently,  her  voice  in 
quiring,  "  Lor  a,  Lor  a." 

Then,  slowly  and  clumsily,  she  made  her  way  to  the 
base  of  the  perch,  and  with  beak  and  talons  climbed 
it. 

It  was  past  the  noon  angelus  when  Padre  Alonzo 
came  waddling  along  the  path,  and  he  found  the 
garden  still — still,  and  filled  with  the  sun-drawn  in 
cense  of  trees  and  flowers. 

"  Sst !  sst !  Tony  will  be  too  warm,  I  fear,"  he 
was  saying  aloud  as  he  neared  the  cage.  "  The  lit 
tle  one  shall  go  to  a  cooler  spot."  And  with  this 
conclusion,  he  halted  beside  the  perch  of  the  parrot 
and  lifted  the  chirping  canary  down  to  his  knee. 

"  Buenos   dias,"   he   said   to   Loretta,   pausing   a 


120  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

moment:  "  a  good-day,  truly,  but  over-hot,  so  that 
my  cassock  makes  of  me  a  living  olla,  for  I  am 
beaded  with  water  drops  from  top  to  toe." 

The  parrot  shifted  a  little,  and  again  set  her  head 
sidewise,  as  if  she  were  puzzled  and  listening.  Next, 
she  edged  toward  him,  and  uncertainly,  putting  a 
foot  down,  clasping  and  unclasping  the  pole,  trying 
it  cautiously.  Against  the  vertical  piece  that  made 
her  perch  like  a  cross  she  teetered  awkwardly  and 
stopped. 

"  Loretta,"  said  the  padre,  in  some  concern,  "  hast 
anything  in  thy  craw?  Well,  gulp  down  a  stone 
and  grind  thy  grist.  What  one  swallowest  that 
must  one  digest." 

The  gravel  crunched  behind  him.  He  glanced 
back,  to  see  Padre  Anzar  advancing,  brown  cowl 
shading  hollow  eyes. 

Padre  Alonzo  coloured  guiltily.  "  Tony  must  go 
to  the  shade,"  he  said.  "  The  sun  is  hot  to  the  cook 
ing-point." 

Padre  Anzar  paused  a  moment,  glowering  up  at 
Loretta.  "  Then  may  it  singe  the  plumage  of  that 
vixen,"  he  answered.  "  She  desecrates  our  garden." 
Another  frown,  and  he  passed  on. 

Padre  Alonzo  watched  him  out  of  sight  before  he 
again  addressed  the  parrot.  "  I  fear  thou  must 
mend  thy  ways,  Loretta,"  he  said.  "  Here  it  is 
Christmas  Day,  and  yet  Anzar  has  no  good  words 
for  thee.  But  see," — he  held  up  a  plump  hand,  dis 
playing  one  of  Gabrielda's  sweet  biscuits — "  riotous 
as  thou  art,  I  have  remembered.  And  now  tell  me, 
what  has  thou  given  Tony?  " 

As  though  in  mute  answer,  the  parrot  suddenly 


Buenas  Noches  121 

lowered  her  head  toward  him,  and  he  saw  that  over 
the  grey  of  her  feathered  face  was  a  splash  of  scar 
let,  as  if  a  vivid  fuchsia  petal  had  fallen  there. 

"  Loretta  !  "  he  cried  anxiously ;  "  Loretta  !  thine 
eyes ! " 

She  lifted  her  head  until  her  beak  pointed  past  the 
giant  crucifix  and  straight  into  the  glaring  sun. 

"  Buenos  dias,"  he  prompted  tenderly,  alarmed 
now  at  her  unusual  silence  and  the  indifference  shown 
his  offering ;  "  Loretta,  buenos  dias." 

But  she  was  settling  herself  upon  her  cross-like 
perch  as  if  for  the  night.  "  A-aw,  To-o-ny! 
To-o-ny!  "  she  returned  with  a  little  sleepy  croak; 
"  buenas  noches!  buenas  noches!  " 


LITTLE    WATCHER 

PICKED  from  among  the  litter  by  the  slack 
of  his  neck,  the  coyote  whelp  opened  round 
eyes  of  greyish  amber  and  blinked  into  the 
face  of  the  Old  Woman.  The  Navajo  looked 
back  at  him,  noting  with  satisfaction  that  he  did 
not  wriggle.  Then  she  put  him  carefully  to  one 
side  and  leaned  over  the  other  cubs,  whimpering  and 
crawling  about  in  their  shallow  burrow  like  so  many 
helpless  puppies.  These  she  caught  up,  one  by  one, 
and  gave  each  a  swift  flick  against  a  stone. 

But  with  the  baby  she  had  chosen,  she  was  most 
tender,  holding  him  tucked  in  a  fold  of  her  bright- 
striped  blanket  as  she  descended  the  steep  trail  from 
the  butte.  When  they  came  out  upon  the  level  be 
low,  she  made  at  once  toward  the  goats,  which  were 
pasturing  at  some  distance,  and  from  the  flock  drove 
a  young  female,  fat,  and  black  as  the  coal  streak 
that  furnished  her  cooking  fires.  Still  carrying  the 
coyote,  she  led  the  goat  by  a  riata  to  the  corral  at 
the  foot  of  the  mesa  precipice,  tied  her  to  a  cedar 
post,  and  promptly  put  the  whelp  up  to  the  udder 
for  his  first  meal  of  goat's  milk. 

He  was  a  wee  ball  of  downy,  mouse-coloured  fur 
then,  with  soft  ears,  a  head  shaped  like  a  peach,  and 
a  mere  wisp  of  tail.  At  night,  he  slept  near  the^ 
Old  Woman  in  the  dirt-covered  hogan,  his  bed  a 
square  of  red  flannel  on  the  bottom  of  a  great,  olla- 
like  basket  which  he  could  neither  tip  over  nor  crawl 

122 


Little  Watcher  123 

out  of.  In  the  daytime,  riding  in  the  crook  of  the 
aged  squaw's  arm,  he  accompanied  her  to  the  desert, 
where  she  went  to  herd,  or  he  lay  beneath  a  brush 
sun  shelter  while  she  worked  in  the  cornfield. 

But  soon,  well  suckled  by  the  she-goat,  he  began 
to  grow  amazingly.  First  he  found  his  legs,  and 
was  able  to  go  wabbling  after  his  foster  mother  as 
she  lonesomely  circled  the  corral.  Next,  the  wabble 
became  a  stout  little  trot.  And  now  the  Old  Woman 
found  no  need  of  holding  him  up  for  his  dinner. 
The  goat,  when  heavy  with  milk,  stood  without  being 
tied,  and  even  uh-uh-uhed  to  him  invitingly  if  he  was 
slow  to  come ;  while  he  had  so  lengthened  and  height 
ened  that  he  was  able  to  drink  without  aid.  He 
gave  over  the  olla-like  basket,  therefore,  and  the 
corral  became  his  home.  Here  he  showed  an  increas 
ing  love  for  the  she-goat  by  yelping  mournfully  if 
she  started  off  down  the  enclosure,  and  by  barking 
in  noisy  delight  at  her  return.  The  squaw  still  saw 
him  often,  and  stroked  him  much  so  that  he  might 
not  become  hand  shy. 

Changed  in  looks  he  was  by  now.  The  black- 
tipped  nose  was  longer  and  more  pointed ;  the  grey 
ish  amber  eyes  were  paler  and  narrowed  in  their 
slits;  the  head  was  flat;  the  ears  were  upright;  the 
hair  was  not  downy,  but  coarse  to  wiriness,  blackish 
and  brindled  along  the  back  and  mane,  striped  burro- 
wise  across  the  shoulders,  elsewhere  of  a  dusty,  sun 
burned,  tawny  grey. 

With  his  change  in  looks  there  came  a  change  in 
appetite.  He  began  to  crave  other  food  than  milk, 
when  the  Old  Woman  gave  him  to  eat  of  wafer 
bread  and  let  him  lap  from  a  gourd  shell  filled  from 


124  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

her  wicker  water  bottle.  Later,  the  she-goat  having 
gone  dry,  and  there  being  no  second  foster  mother 
for  him,  she  fed  him  with  other  things — the  bean  of 
the  mesquite  and  the  sweetish  fruit  of  the  prickly 
pear.  One  day,  he  tasted  blood.  The  squaw 
brought  him  in  a  linnet,  all  plump  and  juicy  be 
neath  its  feathery  coat.  He  lay  down,  holding  the 
tiny  thing  between  his  forefeet,  and  tore  at  it  greed 
ily,  with  little  throaty  growls.  When  he  was  fin 
ished,  she  tried  to  pull  away  the  bits  of  plumage 
caught  in  his  paws.  And  for  the  first  time  he  showed 
his  teeth. 

Then  the  Boy  came.  Having  got  the  man  scent 
before  he  reached  the  hogan,  the  young  prairie  wolf 
was  not  frightened  at  the  stranger  whose  blanket 
was  as  bright  with  stripes  as  the  Old  Woman's,  and 
who  was  otherwise  very  like  her  in  appearance — 
except  that  a  gay  banda  kept  back  the  hair  from  his 
forehead.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Boy  was  startled 
as,  on  entering  the  low  hut,  he  saw  two  eyes  burning 
out  at  him  from  a  dim  corner. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked  the  Old  Woman,  speaking 
in  the  Navajo  tongue. 

"  It  is  Little  Watcher,"  she  answered.  "  For  so 
I  have  named  him.  The  kids  were  all  stolen  away  by 
night.  When  I  prayed  to  Those  Above,  I  was  bid 
den  to  do  what  my  father  had  done — fight  poison 
with  poison." 

With  the  Boy's  coming,  the  coyote  had  much 
meat.  For  every  day  the  Boy  took  bow  and  arrows 
and  climbed  to  the  mesa  top.  Here  grew  juniper, 
pinon,  and  cedar,  and  here  rabbits  were  to  be  found, 
and  reptiles,  ground  squirrel,  buzzard,  and  hawk. 


Little  Watcher  125 

Returning,  the  hunter  threw  the  whole  of  his  quarry 
to  Little  Watcher,  who  was  easy  to  please  but  hard 
to  satisfy.  The  coyote  dragged  the  game  out  of 
reach  and  then  fell  upon  it  as  if  he  feared  interrup 
tion,  mumbling  his  delight. 

Meanwhile  the  Old  Woman  was  not  neglecting  to 
train  him.  When  the  sunrise  sheen  was  on  the  desert, 
and  the  squaw,  singing  the  early  morning  song,  drove 
the  flock  to  its  scant  feeding,  she  took  Little  Watcher 
along.  And  as  the  goats  slowly  travelled,  browsing, 
she  taught  him  to  follow  and  round  them. 

By  the  end  of  twelve  moons,  what  with  no  long 
runs  and  plentiful  food,  Little  Watcher  was  larger 
than  the  wild  of  his  own  kind  and  as  big  as  his 
kinsman,  the  grey  wolf.  Now  a  wren  was  not  a 
mouthful  for  him :  a  snap,  a  swallow,  and  it  was  gone, 
and  the  amber  eyes  were  pleading  for  more.  Yet 
for  all  his  gorging  and  his  hankering  after  flesh,  he 
was  no  less  a  friend  to  his  foster  mother,  the  she- 
goat,  than  before,  and  having  skirted  the  flock,  liked 
to  sprawl  near  by  her,  and  perhaps  tease  a  lizard 
by  way  of  entertainment. 

There  came  a  night  when  for  the  first  time  his 
strength,  his  training,  and  his  affection  for  her  were 
put  to  the  test.  Enemies  came. 

Only  the  stars  were  shining,  and  the  corral  lay  in 
the  heavy  shadow  of  the  precipice.  But  Little 
Watcher  needed  no  light  to  tell  him  that  danger 
threatened.  He  lifted  his  muzzle  to  the  rough  path 
from  the  mesa,  perked  his  ears,  and  snuffed  noise 
lessly.  Then,  as  noiselessly,  he  rose. 

Presently,  along  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  came 
several  forms  like  his  own.  He  was  down  the  wind 


126  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

from  them,  and  they  skulked  forward  with  no  halts, 
their  feet  softly  padding  the  sand.  Soon  the  fore 
most  was  beside  the  inclosure  and  reared  upon  his 
hind  legs. 

Once  more  Little  Watcher  rose — his  body  rigid, 
his  head  stretched  out,  his  brush  on  a  stiff  line  with 
his  back,  and  from  crest  to  tail  his  hair  stood  up 
belligerently.  Then,  with  a  shrill  yelp  of  defiance 
he  leaped  forward  and  caught  the  other  by  the  throat. 

His  fangs  were  sharp,  his  hold  was  a  vise.  One 
rending  pull,  and  the  strange  coyote  pitched  end 
for  end  between  his  fellows.  They  smelled  the  warm 
blood — and  leaped  upon  him  with  a  wrangle  of  ex 
ultant  cries. 

Out  of  her  hogan  rushed  the  Old  Woman  waving 
a  pine  torch  above  her  head  and  shrieking  to  scare 
the  intruders.  They  ran  to  a  safe  distance,  from 
where  they  stopped  to  look  round.  The  Old  Woman 
did  not  follow  them  nor  trouble  to  wake  the  Boy. 
When  she  had  gone  among  the  goats  to  see  that  none 
was  hurt  or  missing,  she  dragged  the  dead  coyote 
some  rods  away,  and  returned  to  give  Little  Watcher 
a  caress. 

But  there  was  no  rest  for  Little  Watcher.  Still 
bristled,  he  stayed  inside  the  corral,  now  skirting  the 
goats  on  fleet  foot,  now  pausing  beside  his  black  fos 
ter  mother,  but  always  licking  his  chops  and  mum 
bling  crossly. 

It  was  then  the  season  that  follows  the  first  rains. 
A  haze  of  green  lay  on  the  desert — a  haze  touched 
here  by  the  yellow  of  sunflower  and  marigold  masses, 
there  by  the  purple  of  the  larkspur's  slender  wand, 
again  by  a  fleck  of  gleaming  alkali. 


Little  Watcher  127 

But  all  too  soon  that  haze  was  gone  again,  melting 
away  with  the  hot  kiss  of  the  sun.  Greasewood  and 
mesquite  showed  the  only  verdure  now,  and  the  flock 
found  the  picking  poor. 

So,  one  dawn,  a  burro  was  loaded  with  blankets, 
the  cooking  pottery,  and  some  water  bottles  filled 
at  the  precious  spring.  Then  the  squaw  said  fare 
well  to  the  Boy,  who  stayed  to  tend  orchard  and 
corn  strips,  and  drove  her  bearded  company  out  of 
the  cedar  corral.  Soon  she  was  well  on  her  way,  and 
the  grey  and  the  red  sandstone  ribbons  of  the  mesa 
precipice  were  blending  and  fading  behind  her. 

Finally,  when  more  than  a  score  of  camps  had 
been  pitched  and  broken,  the  goats  were  stopped 
near  the  cottonwood-lined  bed  of  a  dry  stream.  Here 
the  burro  was  unloaded,  the  Old  Woman  made  a 
sun  shelter  of  boughs  on  the  bare  gravel  of  the 
arroyo,  and  dug  for,  and  found,  water. 

Grazing  was  good,  and  the  goats  fattened.  So 
did  Little  Watcher,  who  fared  well  on  the  daily  spoil 
of  the  squaw's  snares.  Here,  too,  almost  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wooded  Tunicha  Mountains,  was  peace 
— for  a  period. 

Each  night  the  goats  were  driven  in  to  the  line 
of  cottonwoods,  where,  bunched  together,  they  lay 
down.  On  one  side  of  them  was  the  shelter  of  boughs, 
where  the  Old  Woman  slept,  rousing  occasionally  to 
put  a  length  of  mesquite  root  upon  her  torch  fire; 
on  the  opposite  side,  close  to  his  picketed  foster 
mother,  dozed  Little  Watcher,  flat  upon  his  belly, 
his  hind  legs  stretched  out  straight  with  his  tail,  his 
muzzle  on  his  forepaws.  But,  like  the  squaw,  he 
waked  now  and  again,  and  listened — head  high,  ears 


128  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

upright  and  moving,  amber  eyes  glowing  in  the  dark. 
And  he  often  heard  what  the  other  did  not — the 
far-off  staccato  yip!  yip!  yip!  of  the  prairie  wolf 
on  a  scent. 

Then,  for  a  second  time  during  his  term  of  guard 
ing,  enemies  appeared — boldly,  in  broad  daylight, 
when  the  Old  Woman  was  away  looking  to  her  traps. 
It  was  now  the  season  when  the  coyote  runs  in  pairs. 
And  but  two  appeared,  out  of  a  patch  of  cactus  to 
the  mountain  side  of  the  goats.  From  the  cacti, 
they  came  darting  down  upon  the  nearest  of  the  flock 
' — Little  Watcher's  black  foster  mother. 

But  before  they  could  reach  her,  a  streak  of  tawny 
grey  shot  between.  And  as  the  she-goat  scrambled 
up,  bleating  in  terror,  to  join  the  herd,  Little 
Watcher,  all  bristled  from  crest  to  tail,  met  the  male 
of  the  coyote  pair  and  buried  his  teeth  in  his  flank. 

They  fought  furiously,  rolling  over  and  over,  send 
ing  the  sand  into  the  air,  tearing  up  the  greasewood, 
mingling  their  cries  of  pain  and  rage.  From  the 
edge  of  the  cactus  patch,  the  female  watched  them, 
rather  indifferently,  however,  and  with  frequent 
hungry  glances  in  the  direction  of  the  goats. 

The  gaunt  stranger  was  no  match  for  the  guardian 
of  the  flock.  Very  soon  the  battle  was  over.  Then 
Little  Watcher  looked  up,  and  at  the  female.  There 
she  was  at  the  summit  of  the  gentle  rise,  apparently 
waiting,  and  turning  her  head  prettily  this  way  and 
that.  Little  Watcher  loped  toward  her.  She  let 
him  come  close,  then  wheeled  and  sped  away  through 
the  cacti.  He  followed. 

He  was  back  before  nightfall,  and  lay  down  at  the 
feet  of  the  aged  Navajo,  his  eyes  furtive,  as  if  he  were 


Little  Watcher  129 

conscious  of  neglected  duty,  his  tongue  lolling  with 
a  long,  hard  run.  Alternately  scolding  and  caress 
ing  him,  the  Old  Woman  gave  him  a  few  laps  from 
her  gourd  shell,  and  presently  he  sought  out  his  fos 
ter  mother  and  rested  beside  her  until  the  goats 
sought  the  cottonwoods. 

But  thereafter  he  often  left  his  charges  to  go 
bounding  away  toward  the  mountains,  and  not  even 
the  proffering  of  food  could  tempt  him  to  stay. 
Sometimes  of  a  night  he  would  rise  and  sneak  off. 
Sometimes  of  a  morning  he  would  trot  to  the  top  of 
a  near-by  rise,  stop,  look  round  upon  the  goats,  give 
a  troubled  whine — and  disappear. 

Then,  one  day,  as  suddenly  as  these  excursions  had 
begun,  they  came  to  an  end.  He  was  returning  to 
the  flock  after  a  long  jaunt,  when,  not  far  to  his 
right,  there  appeared  a  moving  figure,  wound  in  a 
blanket  and  topped  with  white.  It  was  not  unlike  a 
yucca,  crowned  by  a  cream-coloured  bloom.  Now, 
in  a  new  posture,  it  was  not  unlike  a  stumpy  sagu- 
aro  with  one  outspread  branch.  The  curiosity  of 
his  kind  impelled  him  to  halt.  As  he  did  so,  placing 
his  forefeet  on  a  rock,  the  better  to  see,  he  caught 
the  familiar  scent  of  the  Boy,  and  saw  that  the  latter 
was  holding  out  toward  him  a  long,  strange  some 
thing  upon  which  the  light  glinted.  The  next  mo 
ment  there  was  a  puff  of  smoke — a  report — and  Lit 
tle  Watcher  fell  to  the  sand. 

He  lay  flat  upon  his  side  for  a  short  space,  his 
tail  limp  and  thin,  his  eyes  closed.  Then,  striving 
to  rise,  he  found  himself  able  only  to  control  his 
forelegs,  for  his  hinder  ones  would  not  obey  his  will, 
and  at  the  small  of  his  back  was  a  spot  that  stung. 


130  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

This  he  could  reach,  and  he  alternately  snapped 
round  at  it  with  a  doleful  cry  or  licked  it  ten 
derly. 

It  was  early  morning1  then,  and  he  did  not  mind  the 
heat.  But  later,  as  the  sun  mounted  and  burned 
the  sand,  he  pulled  himself  along  to  some  spiny  buck 
brush,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  in  its  meagre 
shade.  He  knew  the  flock  was  not  far,  for  their 
rank  odour  was  borne  to  him  on  the  wind.  And  so, 
the  sun  gone,  leaving  only  great  strokes  of  orange 
upon  the  sky  and  a  fire-edged  hill  where  its  last  light 
rested,  he  took  his  way  toward  home,  dragging  his 
hind  quarters. 

Twilight  was  yet  on  the  desert  as  he  came  in  sight 
of  the  goats.  There  they  went,  trailing  across  the 
purple  levels  to  the  long,  black,  wavering  line  of 
cottonwoods,  behind  them,  two  herders.  Faster  he 
pulled  himself  along,  giving  a  quick  little  bark,  now 
and  then,  that  ended  in  a  howl.  But  he  was  not 
able  to  cross  the  summit  of  the  ridge  from  which  he 
looked.  And  so  he  dropped  down  upon  a  red-black 
stretch  of  glassy  lava.  For  hours  thirst  had  cruelly 
assailed  him.  As  often  in  times  past  he  had  drunk 
from  rain-filled  pockets  in  the  sandstone,  he  now 
licked  feverishly  at  the  still  blistering  rock. 

There  night  found  him.  Between  his  lappings,  he 
lay  flat,  being  too  hurt  and  weary  to  hold  himself 
up.  His  muzzle  was  toward  the  flock  and  he  could 
see  the  place  of  its  lying  down.  For  there  burned 
the  evening  fire,  a  dot  of  light  on  a  vast  sheet  of 
blackness.  He  shivered,  giving  puppy-like  barks,  as 
when,  a  whelp,  he  tagged  his  foster  mother,  the  she- 
goat;  he  lifted  his  muzzle  to  the  stars  and  mourned. 


Little  Watcher  131 

Behind  him,  other  cries  answered — faintly,  against 
the  wind.  He  perked  his  ears,  listening. 

Yip!  yip!  yip!  yip!  yip! — the  running  cry  of 
prairie  wolves  on  a  scent ! 

He  looked  down  upon  the  level,  where  sparks  were 
flying  up  from  the  Old  Woman's  fire.  Once  more, 
rallying  all  his  strength,  he  tried  to  make  headway 
toward  the  goats.  Once  more,  he  could  not  cross 
the  ridge.  He  whined  helplessly. 

Nearer  and  nearer  sounded  the  coyote  cries  be 
hind,  dulling  a  little  as  the  pack  descended  into  a 
draw,  redoubling  in  strength  when  they  came  out 
upon  higher  ground. 

And  now  they  were  so  near  that  Little  Watcher 
could  hear  their  short  pantings  as  they  loped  for 
ward.  And  now  he  could  see  them  coming  his  way 
through  the  dark.  With  a  growl,  he  sat  up,  ears 
laid  back,  hair  on  end. 

Yip!  yip!  yip!  yip!  yip! 

Up  from  behind  the  pine-covered  Tunichas  rose 
the  moon — -full,  white,  spreading  a  day-like  radiance 
upon  the  great  slopes  and  levels  of  the  desert. 

From  the  brush  shelter  among  the  cottonwoods, 
the  Old  Woman  and  the  Boy  lifted  their  eyes  to  look, 
and  saw,  silhouetted  against  it,  at  the  summit  of  the 
lava  stretch,  a  lone  coyote,  seemingly  seated  upon 
its  haunches. 

The  squaw  got  to  her  feet,  wristlets  and  chains 
tinkling,  and  leaned  to  peer  among  the  goats.  The 
Boy  sprang  up,  too,  his  gaze  toward  the  ridge  top. 

"Little  Watcher!"  he  called  anxiously;  "Little 
Watcher!" 

Then  into  the  moonlight  on  the  distant  summit 


132  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

they  saw  other  wolf  forms  race ;  and  as  these  centred 
to  where  the  lone  coyote  sat,  saw  him  struggle  for 
ward  to  meet  them.  And  through  the  desert  night, 
there  came  a  shrill  yelp  of  defiance — then  a  wrangle 
of  exultant  cries. 


MISSY  AND   I 

IT  all  happened  after  Missy  and  I  arrived  from 
San  Francisco.     I  was  taken  to  Hart's  (which, 
as  you  must  know,  is  one  of  the  most  perfectly 
appointed  boarding-places   for  horses  in  New 
York)  and  given  a  roomy  box-stall  toward  the  front 
of  the  stable.     Across  from  me  was  another  box,  just 
as  large  and  loose.     In  it  was  a  stylish  black  geld 
ing  with  docked  tail  and  hogged  mane.     That  was 
Thunderbolt. 

I  was  very  car-stiff.  For  though  I  came  by  ex 
press  on  the  same  train  with  Missy,  it  had  taken  six 
days.  My  first  day  at  Hart's,  as  she  was  in  my 
stall,  petting  me  and  giving  me  nice  bites  of  carrot 
(it  was  a  Wednesday,  Wednesday  being  my  day  for 
carrots),  a  man  came  down  the  row  of  stalls  with 
Martin,  the  head-groom.  As  he  turned  to  open 
Thunderbolt's  box,  he  looked  at  me — or  Missy — (his 
look  was  admiring,  anyway)  and  raised  his  hat. 
That  was  Thunderbolt's  master. 

Missy  bowed  back,  sweetly,  but  gravely,  and  went 
on  feeding  me. 

I  did  not  know  he  was  Thunderbolt's  master  then. 
But  later,  before  Peter,  one  of  the  under-grooms, 
took  me  out  for  an  airing  (I  was  not  fit,  Missy  said, 
to  be  ridden — but  I  noticed  Peter  rode  me  when  he 
got  me  out  of  sight  of  the  stable),  I  nickered  over 
to  Thunderbolt  to  ask  him  who  his  visitor  was. 

133 


134  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  That  is  my  master,"  said  he,  putting  his  head 
over  the  side  of  his  box.  "  And  he  is  one  of  the  best 
masters  I  have  ever  had." 

I  gave  a  good  horse  laugh  at  that.  "  One  of  the 
best,"  I  said.  For  I  had  never  belonged  to  any 
one  but  Missy,  and  /  think  that  a  first-class  animal 
doesn't  keep  changing  quarters. 

Thunderbolt  put  back  his  ears.  "  That  is  what 
I  said,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I'm  not  going  to  turn 
a  hair  over  it,  either.  A  change  of  monogram  can 
happen  to  anybody*' 

"  Of  course,"  said  I,  taking  particular  pains  to 
show  mine.  It  was  on  my  best  dress-blanket,  which 
Peter  was  putting  on,  and  which  was  made  to  or 
der  for  me  in  Missy's  father's  woolen  mills.  "  But 
how  did  it  happen  that  you — eh " 

Thunderbolt's  eyes  showed  a  rim  of  white — a  bad- 
temper  sign  that  no  thoroughbred  (and  no  part 
thoroughbred)  allows  himself  to  make.  "  '  You're  as 
silly  as  a  filly,'"  he  quoted.  "A  horse  may  just 
be  off  his  oats  a  little — that  was  my  case — or  home 
sick." 

"  /  can  understand  that." 

"  Any  crow-bait  could.  But  now  that  I'm 
here " 

"  Lucky  nag !  "  said  I. 

"  Bet  your  bridle !  "  returned  Thunderbolt,  .  "  My 
master  comes  in  with  his  pockets  fairly  sticking  out 
with  good  things.  Have  you  noticed?  " 

"  No,  but  I  will,"  I  promised. 

And  I  did.  The  very  next  morning,  here  came 
Thunderbolt's  master  again.  I  put  my  nose  out 


Missy  and  I  135 

when  I  saw  him.  He  stopped  and  smoothed  my 
neck.  And,  meanwhile,  I  found  a  pocket  jammed 
with  grass. 

As  Thunderbolt  saw  the  grass  disappear,  he  laid 
back  his  ears.  "  The  Dealers  take  you !  "  he  grum 
bled. 

"  Don't  get  ugly,"  I  said.  "  I'll  divide  my  tid 
bits  with  you.  To-day  I'll  get  an  apple." 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  he  snorted.  He  was  care 
ful  to  appear  on  his  best  behaviour,  however,  for  his 
master  was  looking  at  his  hoofs. 

"  Monday,  sweet  biscuit,"  I  began ;  "  Tuesday, 
sugar ;  Wednesday,  carrots  ;  Thursday,  an  apple ; 
Friday,  cracked  corn;  Saturday,  stale  bread  and 
molasses  ;  Sunday,  m a rshm allows." 

"  What  are  marshmallows  ?  "  asked  Thunderbolt. 
"  Do  they  grow  in  a  meadow?  " 

"  They  don't,"  I  answered.  "  They  come  in 
Missy's  handkerchief.  As  near  as  I  can  make  out, 
they  are  sweet  chunks  of  bran  mash." 

We  stopped  talking  then,  for  Missy  came,  dressed 
for  a  canter.  She  didn't  see  Thunderbolt's  master 
at  first,  for  he  was  still  stooping  over.  And  after 
I  had  a  bite  of  apple,  she  held  out  a  piece  to  Thun 
derbolt. 

"  You  pretty  fellow ! "  she  said. 

At  that,  up  popped  Thunderbolt's  master.  And 
they  bowed,  and  said  good-morning,  and  he  pointed 
out  Thunderbolt's  good  points — deep  chest  and  bold 
eye,  and  Missy  followed  with  mine — tapering  ears, 
broad  forehead  set  with  a  star,  and  long,  arched 
neck.  So  it  was  quite  a  bit  before  I  was  ready  to 


136  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

go  out.  Thunderbolt's  master  put  Missy  up  and 
drove  his  trap  beside  us  so  that  they  could  chat 
all  the  way  to  the  Park. 

"  Did  you  notice  ?  "  asked  Thunderbolt  when  we 
were  both  in  again  and  John  and  Peter  were  groom 
ing  us. 

"Did  I  notice  what?"  I  asked,  licking  my  salt. 

"You  haven't  good  horse  sense,"  declared  Thun 
derbolt.  "  A  flea-bitten  screw  with  cockled  hocks 
would  see  more.  Didn't  you  notice  how  nice  my  mas 
ter  was  to  your  Missy  ?  " 

I  fairly  pawed  with  delight.  "Of  course  I  not 
iced  it,"  I  answered.  And  until  the  next  apple-day 
I  was  careful  to  do  my  part.  I  nosed  Thunderbolt's 
master  when  he  came  in,  I  picked  up  my  feet  in  my 
best  style  when  I  went  out  beside  his  trap,  and  I 
pranced.  And  when  Missy  wanted  to  turn  me  into 
the  bridle-path,  I  passaged  and  champed. 

Thunderbolt's  master  and  Missy  spent  an  hour 
in  our  boxes  every  day.  They  fed  us  dainties  and 
talked  to  each  other,  and  he  was  especially  kind  to 
me,  patting  me  a  lot  and  praising  me.  And  I  saw — • 
well,  I  can  see  farther  than  my  muzzle — and  I  was 
as  happy  as  a  Grand  Prix  winner. 

And  then  one  day — something  seemed  wrong  with 
Missy.  She  arrived  earlier  than  usual,  and  had 
nothing  for  me.  When  she  entered  my  stall,  she 
threw  her  arms  around  my  neck.  "  Oh,  Hector ! 
Hector !  "  she  whispered,  so  sadly.  And  I  saw  she 
had  a  letter  crumpled  up  in  one  hand. 

When  Peter  took  off  my  sheet,  she  stepped  back 
and  looked  me  over.  "  You  dear  darling !  "  she  said, 
just  as  if  she  were  going  to  cry.  "  Peter,  isn't  he 


Missy  and  I  137 

beautiful?     I've  had  him  ever  since  he  was  a  colt." 
And  she  laid  her  pretty  cheek  against  me. 

"  Oi  never  seen  a  foiner,  miss,"  said  Peter.  "  Up- 
headed,  an'  wid  a  mouth  that  ud  drive  on  a  t'read." 

Thunderbolt's  master  came  in  then,  and  when  he'd 
said  good-morning1  he  sent  Peter  away  for  some 
thing  and  stepped  over  into  my  box.  Missy  turned 
away  from  him,  and  he  couldn't  help  but  see  that 
she  wasn't  acting  as  usual.  But  I  don't  believe  he 
understood  it  any  better  than  I  did.  For  he  looked 
puzzled,  and  then  he  raised  his  hat  again. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  it's  just  occurred  to 
me  that  I've  been  very  remiss.  I've  never  even  in 
troduced  myself  properly  to  you.  And  I  haven't  the 
pleasure  of  your  name,  either." 

"  If  people  are  fond  of  horses "  began  Missy. 

She  fell  to  patting  my  nose. 

"My  name  is  England,"  went  on  Thunderbolt's 
master,  "  Edward  England." 

Instantly,  I  felt  Missy's  fingers  tighten,  and  I  saw 
her  face  grow  white.  "  England ! "  she  said  under 
her  breath ;  "  Edward  England !  " 

She  was  standing  on  my  off  side  now,  and  Thun 
derbolt's  master  could  not  see  her.  "  I  presume  it's 
a  name  you're  not  unfamiliar  with,"  he  went  on 
again.  "  But  don't  mistake  me  for  dad.  He's  been 
manipulating  wool  lately,  and  the  press  keeps  pretty 
close  track  of  him."  And  he  laughed. 

"  Yes — I — I  have  heard,"  answered  Missy,  slowly, 
and  as  Peter  led  me  toward  the  runway,  she  fol 
lowed — without  another  word.  She  walked  un 
evenly,  as  a  horse  goes  when  he's  got  the  blind  stag 
gers. 


138  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

I  was  sorry  she  hadn't  told  him  who  we  were. 
For  I  must  say  that,  on  the  Coast,  no  family  stands 
better  than  the  Sanborns.  But  Missy  was  changed 
— something  had  happened  to  her. 

The  very  next  day,  something  happened  to  me. 
Peter  came  down  the  stalls  with  a  strange  groom 
behind  him  and  stopped  at  my  box.  For  the  swish 
of  a  tail,  I  didn't  think  anything  of  that,  for  we 
often  have  new  grooms.  But  when  Peter  put  on  my 
halter,  and  then  my  hood  and  dress-blanket,  and  the 
man  took  my  leading-strap,  I  knew  I  was  to  be 
taken  away  somewhere. 

I  felt  so  startled  and  excited  that  I  am  sure  I 
misbehaved.  But  the  groom  talked  kindly  to  me, 
and  Peter  slapped  me  on  the  flank,  and  so  I  tried 
to  go  quietly.  I  think  the  other  horses  knew  I  was 
leaving — that  strange  groom  gave  them  the  hint. 
They  looked  around  at  me,  and  one  whinnied  to  ask 
me  what  was  the  matter.  They  were  all  stall  board 
ers,  and  of  course  I  didn't  know  them.  And  I  was 
too  unhappy  to  answer,  anyway.  For  Thunderbolt 
was  out  in  the  trap,  and,  if  I  was  going,  I  could  not 
tell  him  good-bye. 

"  What  if  I'm  sold?  "  I  kept  saying  to  myself  as 
I  went  down  the  runway  aind  out  to  the  street. 
"  What  if  I'm  sold?  "  I  shivered,  for  all  my  cover 
ing.  "  Oh,  Missy,  you  wouldn't  do  that !  " 

Then  another  terrible  thought:  Is  Missy  going 
to  get  an  auto  ?  But  that  couldn't  be — Missy  hates 
autos. 

Soon  enough,  I  found  out  what  had  happened. 
The  strange  groom  led  me  toward  the  Hudson,  then 
north  again — I  am  never  mistaken  in  directions — 


Missy  and  I  139 

and,  finally,  into  a  good-sized  stable  that  stood  mid 
way  of  a  block.  Here,  I  was  led  upstairs — and 
into  a  standmg-stall. 

It  made  me  cross,  and  I  tried  my  hind  shoes  on 
the  mats  in  short  order  (a  blooded  horse  is  expected 
to  be  nervous  and  impatient  at  times).  But  the 
place  was  clean  and  comfortable,  and  the  double  line 
of  horses  were,  I  must  say,  a  very  decent  lot — not 
show  horses,  but  good  of  their  kind.  All  were  fresh 
littered  and  well  blanketed,  and  seemed  contented 
enough.  "  This  is  where  I'm  going  to  live,  I  guess," 
I  thought  to  myself.  Pretty  soon  I  was  sure  of  it. 
For  here  came  Missy  in  her  riding  clothes. 

"  It's  all  very  nice,"  I  heard  her  tell  the  strange 
groom.  "  And  I  want  you  to  give  him  every  at 
tention."  She  opened  one  hand.  There  was  a  green 
piece  of  paper  in  it,  and  he  bobbed  his  head  as  he 
took  it.  Then  she  opened  her  other  hand — and 
there  was  some  cracked  corn.  So  it  was  on  a  Fri 
day  that  I  came  to  my  new  quarters. 

It  was  three  days  later  before  I  saw  Thunderbolt 
and  his  master.  We  all  met  in  the  Park. 

"They  tell  me  Hector's  left  Hart's,"  said  Mr. 
England  to  Missy.  "  Now,  Miss  Sanborn, — you  see 
I've  found  out  who  you  are — it  really  wasn't  fair 
of  you  to  go  without  letting  me  know  about  it. 
We're  both  wool  people,  you  must  remember."  He 
spoke  jokingly;  but  he  looked  a  little  worried. 

Missy  straightened  in  her  stirrups  (she  rides  cross- 
saddle)  and  tightened  my  reins.  I  felt  them  trem 
ble.  "  I've  moved,"  she  said,  "  and  so,  of  course, 
Hector  had  to  come  nearer  me." 

"I  see — of  course.     Where  are  you  now?" 


140  The  Justice  of  Gideon  \ 

"At  Hawley's,  up-town — a  nice  stable." 

"Oh,  yes."  (Mr.  England  looked  hard  at  the 
dog's  head  on  the  butt  of  his  whip.) 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Then,  "  Good- 
afternoon,"  said  Missy,  and  went  on. 

It  didn't  take  me  long  to  realise  one  thing  about 
my  new  home.  It  was  not  so  good  as  the  old ;  in 
the  main  comforts  it  was,  but  not  in  little  ones. 
We  got  two  groomings  instead  of  three;  the  litter 
was  not  deep,  as  at  Hart's ;  we  were  not  watered  so 
often ;  there  was  no  more  briny  hay,  and  no  flaxseed 
jelly.  Several  times,  too,  I  saw  delivery  horses  com 
ing  up  a  runway  from  the  basement,  and  being  put 
to  heavy  wagons.  The  horses  on  my  floor,  when 
they  went  out,  were  wickedly  checked  to  make  them 
hold  up  their  heads. 

Their  treatment  of  me  was  always  the  perfection 
of  good  stable  manners,  and  among  the  whole  lot 
there  was  only  one  that  especially  irritated  m£.     H£ 
was  a  bay  with  black  points,  one  of  those  under-sizedj- 
jack-rabbity  little  nuisances  called  a  Shetland.    X 

"  My !    what  airs  !  "    he  exclaimed  one  day'  as  he 
was  passing  me  in  his  governess's  cart.     "  I-  pr^sunr^ 
you're  much  too  fine  to  take  hay-tea  with  the  rest- 
of  us." 

"Don't  class  yourself  with  the  others,"*!  an 
swered.  "  You  remind  me  of  nothing  so  mu-ch  as  a 
flea  drawing  a  wash-basket."  •  ^ 

After  that  brush,  he  let  me  alone.  And  I  "t$ed 
to  be  contented  at  Hawley's.  I  must  say  that 
was  kinder  than  ever  to  me.  On  apple  days  I  ^ 
several,  and  on  Saturdays  a  double  quantity  of  stale 
bread  and  molasses.  So  why  kick? 


Missy  and  I  141 

But  very  soon  my  dainties  began  to  dwindle,  and 
often  Missy  gave  me  none  at  all,  so  that  I  lost  track 
of  the  days.  And  I  noticed,  when  we  went  out  for  our 
regular  gallop,  that  Missy  never  hummed  to  herself 
as  we  went  along,  or  stopped  to  let  me  crop  a  little 
green,  or  nodded  pleasantly  to  the  mounted  police 
we  passed.  She  rode  slowly,  with  her  head  down,  or 
set  me  going  at  a  run. 

Then,  when  I  had  been  at  the  new  stable  not  more 
than  two  weeks,  a  strange  groom  came  down  the 
stalls  to  me  for  a  second  time.  Again  my  hood  and 
dress-blanket  were  put  on,  and  I  was  led  down  and 
out.  The  groom  was  a  hang-dog  looking  fellow. 
Still,  I  went  with  a  prancing  step.  For  I  knew  what 
it  meant.  I  was  going  back  to  Martin  and  my  box- 
stall! 

But  I  wasn't.  We  turned  north  again,  going  up 
a  cobbled  street  that  rang  with  clanging  cars.  Over 
head,  the  Elevated  roared  and  banged  till  my  ears 
ached.  And  everywhere,  on  sidewalks  and  in  the 
street,  herds  of  noisy  children  shrieked  and  raced. 
My  heart  began  to  fail  me.  Under  my  blanket,  I 
broke  out  in  a  cold  sweat. 

Too  soon  I  knew  the  worst.  Down  a  crowded 
street  we  turned,  going  eastward  until  I  could  see, 
ahead,  a  blur  of  green  that  was  the  Park.  Then  I 
was  led  into  a  low,  ill-smelling,  steaming  building, 
around  the  door  of  which  slouched  a  half-dozen 
rough-looking  men,  all  smoking — smoking,  mind  you, 
in  a  stable !  They  looked  me  over  as  the  groom 
brought  me  to  a  stand.  And  their  eyes  actually 
rolled  at  sight  of  me.  It  was  plain  they  were  not 
used  to  seeing  my  kind  there. 


142  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

They  were  not.  Down  a  runway  I  went,  and 
into  a  cellar,  where  there  were  fifty  or  so  horses,  all 
looking  around  and  moving  restlessly,  as  if  they 
wanted  feed  or  water.  And  here  I  was  led  into  a 
narrow  stall  with  little  bedding — and  that  bad — 
and  a  sour  feed-box.  Oh,  what  an  awful  night  I 
spent!  My  dress-blanket  had  been  taken  off,  and 
my  sheet  not  put  on.  So  the  mosquitoes  tormented 
me  every  minute.  But  I  was  not  the  worst  off*. 
Near  me  were  horses  that  had  plucked  manes  and 
banged  tails,  and  no  sheets.  They  couldn't  defend 
themselves,  and  rubbed  from  side  to  side  in  their 
stalls  in  a  very  panic  of  pain.  That  terrible  bang 
ing,  hour  after  hour,  and  the  foul  state  of  my  stall 
kept  me  from  lying  down.  The  groom  had  given 
me  no  water  when  he  brought  me  in.  And  until 
morning  I  suffered  terribly. 

I  plucked  up  courage  when  I  was  groomed  and 
watered,  though  I  must  say  I  could  not  eat  all  of 
my  oats.  Somehow  or  other,  my  appetite  was  gone. 
But  Missy  came,  and  we  went  out  together.  Not 
as  I  would  have  liked,  for  my  coat  was  not  so  shin 
ing  as  usual,  and  some  of  my  mane  hung  over  the 
wrong  side.  And,  worse  than  all,  some  straws  were 
sticking  in  my  tail ! 

Missy  noticed  nothing,  not  even  the  howls  of  the 
children  in  the  street.  In  the  Park  she  did  not  rein 
me  to  drink  at  the  stone  troughs  along  the  bridle 
path,  or  to  crop.  But  there  was  one  thing  that, 
more  than  anything  else,  took  the  spirit  out  of  me. 
Going  south  beside  the  East  Drive,  I  saw  ahead  of 
us — Thunderbolt  coming!  Instantly,  I  neighed. 


Missy  and  I  143 

Missy  looked  up,  and  then,  as  quick  as  she  could, 
whirled  me  and  started  back,  circling  the  reservoir 
the  other  way.  So  I  did  not  have  a  chance  to  see 
my  friend,  or  Mr.  England.  I  went  into  the  stable 
with  my  head  hanging. 

Things  went  along  that  way  for  a  week.  Mean 
while,  I  was  not  so  well  as  usual.  I  caught  a  cold, 
for  the  stalls  were  hot  and  the  air  in  the  street 
chilled  me  to  the  bones.  And  I  coughed,  and  my 
throat  got  so  sore  that  I  quidded  my  .* feed  and 
splashed  the  water  instead  of  drinking.  I  think 
Missy  saw  how  it  was.  For  one  day,  as  we  were 
going  along,  I  felt  a  drop  of  water  fall  upon  my 
withers — then  another,  and  another.  The  sun  was 
shining,  there  were  no  clouds.  I  turned  my  head  a 
little.  It  was  Missy — in  tears! 

I  was  so  unhappy  that  I  snapped  at  the  next  horse 
that  went  by. 

But  that  morning  ended  happily,  at  least  for  me. 
Rounding  a  bend,  we  came  close  to  a  drive.  And 
there  was  Thunderbolt  and  his  master.  I  was  so 
excited  that  I  interfered. 

They  seemed  as  pleased  as  I  at  the  meeting.  But 
— Missy  did  not.  Missy  was  nervous — she  tele 
graphed  that  down  the  reins. 

"  Miss  Sanborn,"  said  Mr.  England,  half  as  if 
he  were  going  to  scold,  "you've  been  neglecting  to 
ride  lately." 

"  Oh,  no,"  declared  Missy ;  "  I  ride.  But  possi 
bly  not  so  long  as  usual.  You  see,  I'm — I'm  very 
busy." 

"  Doubling  your  painting  lessons  ?  " 


144  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

«  No— n— no." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  England,  watching  her  narrowly, 
I  thought.  That  was  all  he  said.  Then  Missy 
bowed,  and  we  galloped  away. 

I  had  had  no  chance  to  gossip  with  Thunderbolt, 
for  we  were  not  permitted  to  stand  close  or  to  touch 
noses.  But  I  did  notice  that  he  looked  me  over 
carefully — and  then  his  upper  lip  curled  like  the 
jockeys  on  my  saddle. 

But  I  forgot  his  treatment.  For  soon  I  had  worse 
luck  than  ever,  and  much  poorer  care.  For  the  third 
time,  a  strange  groom  came  for  me.  I  knew  better 
than  to  expect  a  return  to  a  good  stable.  And  I 
was  right.  We  went  two  blocks  toward  the  Hudson, 
and  through  a  wide  gate  leading  into  a  lot — a  lot 
filled  with  wagons  and  little  shacks  of  the  kind  that 
Chinamen  live  in  on  the  Coast.  It  took  me  a  minute 
to  realise  what  was  going  to  happen.  "  It  can't 
be!"  I  said  to  my  self.  "  Oh,  Missy  wouldn't!  "  But 
it  happened.  I  was  led  into  a  dark  stall  in  one  of 
those  shanties ! 

There  was  a  rough-coated  lot  in  that  yard,  not 
society  for  a  horse  like  me.  Some  were  scrawny  and 
spindle-shanked,  with  dull  eyes  and  staring  jackets. 
Some  were  stout  and  blocky — beer-jerking  stock, 
but  not  nearly  as  well  kept  as  brewery  horses.  Some 
showed  pedigree.  But  these  were  poor,  old,  broken- 
down,  mutilated  things,  badly  used  on  pedler's 
wagons.  The  three  in  my  shanty  bolted  their  food 
as  if  they  never  expected  to  get  any  more.  It  was 
all  bloating  stuff — chaff  and  straw — and  about  as 
palatable  as  hoof-dressing.  As  for  grooming,  none 
of  us  got  any.  It  was  just  a  jerk  or  two  of  the 


Missy  and  I  145 

curry-comb,  and  it  was  over.  And  this  among  a 
long-haired  lot  that  looked  as  if  they  had  never 
known  a  blanket! 

I  could  see,  when  Missy  came,  that  she  didn't  like 
the  place.  And  on  one  of  her  visits  I  found  out 
just  how  she  felt.  It  made  me  decide  to  put  my 
best  foot  foremost,  to  act  spirited  even  if  I  didn't 
feel  like  it,  and  to  stop  biting  my  crib.  She  came 
to  my  head,  a  sugar  lump  in  one  hand.  And  as  I 
took  the  dainty,  she  held  me  about  the  withers  with 
her  pretty  arms.  "  Oh,  Hector !  Hector ! "  she  whis 
pered.  "You're  all  that's  left.  I  can't  do  with 
out  you — I  can't !  I  can't!  " 

Dear  Missy! 

We  didn't  see  Thunderbolt  or  his  master  for  weeks 
after  that.  Missy  avoided  them.  I  knew  it,  and 
it  added  to  my  unhappiness.  For  I  had  seen  how 
Mr.  England  liked  me — and  Missy,  too.  And  I 
missed  the  nice  things  I  always  found  in  his  pockets. 
And  though  I  went  out  poorly  groomed,  I  wouldn't 
have  minded  Thunderbolt's  snorting.  I've  got  bet 
ter  blood  in  me  than  he  has  any  day.  I  know  that 
by  his  cobby  build. 

Those  were  days  when  I  often  felt  teardrops  on 
my  withers.  And  I  couldn't  help  but  see  that  Missy 
was  faring  no  better  than  I.  Then  I  began  to  look 
and  look  and  look  for  Mr.  England.  "  Missy's  not 
getting  all  she  needs  to  eat  any  more  than  I  am," 
I  said  to  myself.  And  I  was  determined  that  if  ever 
Mr.  England  gave  me  an  apple  or  a  sweet  cake 
again,  she  was  to  have  it. 

Well,  one  day  as  we  were  posting  along  close  to 
the  West  Drive,  who  should  I  spy  but  Mr.  England 


146  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

and  Thunderbolt  with,  the  trap — Martin  on  the  rum 
ble.  I  whinnied,  and  Missy  gave  me  a  smart  rap 
for  it  that  made  me  fairly  dance.  But  neither  Mar 
tin  nor  Mr.  England  saw  me.  As  for  Thunder 
bolt,  if  he  did,  he  gave  no  sign,  but  stepped  out 
with  his  high  knee-action,  making  a  good  pace  up 
town. 

It  may  have  been  acting  like  a  skate.  Certainly, 
I  had  never  treated  Missy  that  way  before.  But 
I  decided  to  do  it  on  the  instant,  and  I  took  the 
blow  she  gave  me  as  an  excuse.  For,  with  the  bits 
held  so  that  the  curb-port  couldn't  fyurt  me  too 
much,  I  started  to  run  with  all  my  might,  being 
careful  not  to  stumble  and  make  Missy  come  a  crop 
per.  Out  upon  the  driveway  I  raced,  and  straight 
for  Thunderbolt ! 

The  clatter  of  my  hoofs  made  both  Mr.  England 
and  Martin  glance  back.  They  saw  Missy  coming 
after,  pulling  me  in  with  might  and  main,  and  fairly 
standing  in  her  stirrups.  Mr.  England  gave  Mar 
tin  the  reins  and  sprang  to  the  ground.  The  trap 
was  turned  squarely  across  the  drive.  And  I  came* 
bouncing  into  it,  Mr.  England  catching  at  my  bridle. 

Missy  dismounted,  breathing  hard. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  What  pos 
sessed  you,  Hector?  Oh,  there's  something  the  mat 
ter  with  the  darling !  " 

At  that  Thunderbolt  turned  his  head.  "  Over 
feeding,"  he  snickered.  The  hide-bound  spavin ! 

"  I  think,"  Mr.  England  was  saying,  "  that  you'd 
better  not  ride  to  the  stable.  Martin  will  drive 
you  home,  and  I'll  take  charge  of  this  chap.  He's 
still  excited." 


Missy  and  I  147 

(I  was  only  out  of  temper  with  Thunderbolt.) 

But  poor  Missy!  She  lowered  the  nigh  stirrup 
quick  as  a  wink.  "  No,  no,  it  really  isn't  necessary," 
she  said;  "  Really  it  isn't.  I  wouldn't  for  the  world 
let  Hector  think  he'd  scared  me.  It  would  spoil 
him.  I  must  ride  him  right  away,  and  conquer 
him."  And  she  mounted. 

Martin  had  turned  the  trap  by  now,  for  other 
vehicles  were  passing.  But  Mr.  England  did  not 
get  up. 

"  You're  right,  of  course,"  Ke  answered.  "  If  he 
thinks  he  beat  you  out,  he'll  only  bully  you  every 
chance  he  gets  after  this.  But  still  I  must  insist  on 
taking  you  to  the  stable.  We'll  go  slowly,  and  you 
put  his  nose  close  behind  the  rumble  and  keep  it 
there." 

I  felt  the  reins  tremble  dreadfully/  It  wasn't 
fear,  either.  Then  Missy  bent  over,  speaking  low. 

"  Mr.  England,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  not  Mar 
tin.  Won't  you  send  him  home  with  Thunderbolt? 
Please." 

Mr.  England  saw  that  she  was  troubled  about 
something  and  he  gave  her  her  head.  "  Martin," 
he  called  to  the  groom,  "  you  take  the  trap  in. 
And  attend  to  that  thong  on  the  whifflfetree — it 
doesn't  hold  the  trace." 

Thunderbolt  went  trotting  off.  Mr.  England 
turned  back  to  Missy.  "  Hector  seems  a  little 
quieter  now,"  he  said. 

Then  I  saw  that  Missy  wasn't  going  to  let  Mr. 
England  come  with  her  any  more  than  she  had  Mar 
tin.  "  There  isn't  any  reason  for  your  coining," 
she  said.  "  Hector's  like  a  lamb." 


148  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

For  a  second,  I  thought  he  hesitated.  But  I  set 
tled  that.  With  a  little  squeal  and  a  shake  of  my 
head,  I  reared — just  a  trifle. 

Quick  as  a  fly,  Mr.  England  had  my  reins.  "  He 
isn't  over  his  tantrum  yet,  you  see,"  he  said  quietly, 
but  very  decidedly.  "  I  can't  think  of  letting  you 
take  him  in  alone." 

Well,  Missy  protested.  But  he  was  firm.  And 
we  started  for  the  entrance,  with  him  at  my  bridle. 

As  soon  as  I  saw  he  was  really  coming,  I  hung 
my  head  and  went  along  like  a  case  of  chest-founder. 
When  we  reached  the  street,  he  took  to  the  sidewalk, 
watching  me  every  instant  though,  and  watching 
poor  Missy.  She  was  hanging  her  head,  too. 

At  a  corner,  Mr.  England  turned  north,  expect 
ing  us  to  follow.  For  that  was  the  way  to  Hawley's. 
Missy  reined  me  up  and  called  to  him,  and  he  came 
back. 

I  could  see  her  face  was  dreadfully  pale.  But 
she  was  just  as  straight  in  her  saddle  as  she  could 
be.  "  Not  that  way,  Mr.  England,"  she  said. 

He  didn't  show  the  least  surprise.  (He  is  a 
thoroughbred,  too.)  "You  lead,"  he  said;  "I'll 
follow." 

And  so  we  went  on — to  the  wagon-yard,  Mr.  Eng 
land  looking  at  the  sidewalk,  Missy  looking  straight 
ahead. 

The  gate  was  open.  I  went  in,  not  stopping  till 
I  reached  the  door  of  my  shanty.  There,  Missy 
got  down.  She  was  standing  beside  me  as  Mr.  Eng 
land  came  around  the  corner,  and  leaning  a  little 
upon  me,  one  gloved  hand  reached  up  to  the  sad 
dle. 


Missy  and  I  149 

Mr.  England  strode  close  up  to  her,  and  they 
stood  for  a  moment,  her  face  raised  bravely  to  his, 
his  eyes  searching  her. 

"  Oh,  little  woman ! "  he  said,  and  his  voice  shook ; 
"  oh,  little  woman !  " 

She  took  her  under  lip  in  her  teeth.  "  There's — 
there's  no  reason  for  me  to  conceal  anything,"  she 
said.  "  Matters  were  a  little  tight  at  home,  and  I 
had  to  be  economical." 

He  was  looking  at  her  as  if  he  was  bewildered. 

"  Matters  tight — at  home "  he  repeated.  Then, 

of  a  sudden,  he  seemed  to  know  what  it  all  meant, 
and  his  face  got  as  white  as  Missy's.  "  Your  father 
— then,  your  father ?  "  he  began,  almost  chok 
ingly. 

Missy  looked  straight  back  at  him,  and  there  was 
no  more  leaning  against  me.  "  Yes.  And  now  you 
know  why  I  didn't  want  you  to  come  here.  It  wasn't 
because  I  was  ashamed  of  this.  It  was  because  I 
knew  you'd  find  out.  And  then  you  might  think — 
might  think  that  I  felt  there  was  something  personal 
about  it.  You  see,  I  realise  there  wasn't.  Father 
made  contracts  to  deliver.  Afterward,  wool  went 
up " 

Mr.  England  groaned.  "  To  think  it  reached 
you!  That  you  had  to  suffer." 

"  But  I  haven't  suffered.  Work  was  offered  me 
here, — work  in  an  art  line.  I  have  felt  no  hardship 
from  it.  In  fact,  there  is  happiness  in  earning  a 
living.  I  am  learning  so  much.  The  only  disap 
pointment  I've  had  was  about  Hector.  He's  not 

been  quite  as  comfortable "  She  stopped  and 

caressed  my  shoulder  tenderly. 


150  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Something  got  into  my  wind-pipe  then,  and  I  had 
to  mouth  my  bits  to  keep  from  coughing. 

"And  where  do  you  live?"  asked  Mr.  England. 
"  Not  where  you  did.  I  went  there — more  than 
once." 

"  Well, — no-o — .  But  in  a  very  nice  place.  I 
take  my  meals  across  from  the  store." 

"  The  store?  " 

;<Yes.  I  am  painting  Christmas  things — cards 
and  so  on.  It's  pleasant  work.  And  my  room  looks 
out  on  the  side  of  a  church.  And  there's  a  stained- 
glass  window  there,  and  ivy  all  over  the  church  wall." 

Mr.  England  began  again,  low  and  deep  and 
earnestly.  "  Once  in  a  lifetime,"  he  said,  "  a  man 
meets  a  girl  like  you — sweet  and  sensible  and  good, 
that  can  take  a  blow  like  this  without  a  word,  find 
her  feet  again,  and  begin  her  fight  bravely,  doing 
without  things  that  are  second  nature  to  her,  and 
going  without  comforts  for  a  friend,  even  when  that 
friend  is  only  a  horse !  " 

"  But  I  couldn't  do  without  Hector,"  Missy  de 
clared.  "  I  love  him  too  much." 

(I  rubbed  my  nose  against  her  sleeve.) 

"  Sometimes  I've  had  a  terrible  thought,"  she  said, 
half  in  a  whisper.  "  It  was  that  I  might  be  forced 
to  part  with  him.  And — and  I've  wondered — oh, 
you'll  forgive  me,  I  hope — if  I  have  to,  you'll  take 
him,  Mr.  England?  He's  a  perfect  lady's  sad 
dler." 

"  You  mean, — I  may  need  a  lady's  saddler?  " 

"  Well,  you — you  might." 

"  I  shall — if  I  have  my  way  about  it." 

Dear  Missy  turned  to  me  again,  and  put  her  arms 


Missy  and  I  151 

about  my  neck.  "  I'm  not  brave  about  this,"  she 
whispered,  and  hid  her  face  in  my  mane. 

All  of  a  sudden  he  pulled  her  hands  free  and 
turned  her  toward  him.  "  You  love  him,"  he  said. 
"  I  wonder  if  there's  room  in  your  heart  for  any  one 
else,  dear  little  woman  ?  " 

And  just  at  that  moment  that  ragamuffin  of  a 
stable-boy  popped  into  sight.  Of  course,  I  was  led 
away. 

I  don't  know  how  I  ever  lived  through  the  next 
few  days.  No  Missy,  no  dainties,  nothing  but  a 
short  airing  each  morning  to  take  me  out  of  that 
terrible  shanty.  Ah,  I  knew  what  had  happened 
to  me  tills  time.  I  was  out  of  the  Sanborn  family. 
I  was  somebody  else's  lady's  saddler! 

Then,  one  morning,  when  the  boy  led  me  out 
through  the  gate,  he  started  off  south  along  the 
Boulevard.  I  had  on  my  dress-blanket  and  hood. 
Behind  me  came  another  boy,  carrying  my  saddle 
and  bridle  and  the  rest  of  my  clothes.  This  was 
going  somewhere. 

"  They  can't  find  any  place  in  New  York  worse 
than  that  shanty,"  I  said  to  myself.  And  for  the 
first  time  since  leaving  California,  I  completely  lost 
heart.  I  put  my  head  down  and  just  stumbled  long. 

And  then — I  suddenly  found  that  we  had  passed 
the  Circle,  turned  east,  and  were  in  front  of  Hart's ! 
We  mounted  the  runway.  And  there  it  was — the 
roomy  box-stall  across  from  Thunderbolt's,  deep 
with  sweet  bedding,  and  matted  in  Peter's  best  style. 
And  there  was  Missy,  looking  so  pink  and  pretty! 
And  there  was  Mr.  England,  smiling  so  hard  he 
couldn't  talk! 


152  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Dear  Hector ! "  cried  Missy.  "  Oh?  Martin,  be 
very  good  to  him  while  we're  away ! " 

"  Yes,  mum,"  said  Martin. 

"And  to  Thunderbolt,  too,"  said  Missy. 

Martin  bobbed,  and  tugged  at  his  cap. 

Then  Missy  reached  up  and  pulled  my  head  down 
close  to  her.  "  Darling  Hector ! "  she  whispered. 
"  We're  home  to  stay ! "  And  she  kissed  the  star 
in  my  forehead. 


THE    GENEVIEVE   EPIDEMIC 

I'M  homely,"  said  Sue,  smiling  and  pulling  the 
grey  pony  down  to  a  walk ;  "  I'm  the  homeliest 
girl  to  be  found  at  the  Brampton  Country  Club. 
Why,  even  plain  young  married  women  ask 
me  to  their  houses  on  protracted  visits." 

As  he  remed  his  own  horse,  Philip  Rawson  turned 
upon  her  a  look  of  reproof.  "  Ridiculous ! "  he  ex 
claimed.  "  The  first  time  a  fellow  meets  you,  maybe 
he  only  does  remember  your  hair  or  your  eyes.  You've 
got  awfully  attractive  eyes,  Sue.  But  the  second 
time  he  sees  how  nice  you  are.  And  the  third  time 
he's  sure  to  look  forward  to  meeting  you  again. 
But  by  the  fourth  or  fifth  time!  Well,  by  gad! 
by  the  fourth  or  fifth  time  there's  no  half-way  about 
it — he  thinks  you're  a  dandy !  " 

Sue  laughed  teasingly.  "  You've  grown  up  with 
those  ideas,"  she  declared.  "  Do  you  remember  that 
once — you  were  twelve,  Phil, — you  gave  Len  Ham 
mond  the  nosebleed  because  he  called  me  '  cotton- 
top'?" 

"Your  hair  is  stunning,"  said  Phil  defensively. 
"  And  no  girl  could  look  better  than  you  do  on  a 
horse." 

"  But  imagine  riding  a  horse  to  a  dance,"  said 
Sue. 

"  Who  wants  to  go  to  dances  ?  "  demanded  Phil. 
153 


154  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  The  idea  of  wasting  hours  getting  togged  for  a 
confounded  silly  affair  and  then  more  hours  attend 
ing  it — when  there's  all  outdoors  to  en j  oy  !  " 

"  Don't  scold,"  said  Sue.  "  It's  been  ages  since 
I've  '  wasted  hours '  at  a  dance.  And  yesterday  I 
wore  out  two  horses." 

Phil  suddenly  brightened.  "  Let's  go  to  Wheaton 
Hill  some  afternoon,"  he  suggested.  "  And  up  to 
Hadbury  another  day.  I  want  to  see  the  polo-field. 
Brampton's  going  to  play  Hadbury  soon.  And 
there's  a  new  litter  of  collies  at  the  St.  Ives  kennels. 
We'll  canter  over  and  see  'em." 

"  How  I've  missed  you  these  two  years ! "  said 
Sue.  "  I've  ridden  a  lot,  of  course.  But  my  tennis 
has  suffered.  And  not  a  single  fish  have  I  caught. 
The  other  men — even  Bob  and  Courtney  and  Len, 
too — all  wait  on  me  when  I  ride  with  them  or  fish. 
I  hate  that:  I  hate  being  treated  like  a  drawing- 
room  ornament.  Now,  you,  Phil, " 

"  Can  be  pretty  nearly  as  rude  and  selfish  as  a 
brother,"  broke  in  Phil. 

"  You're  more  like  a — a  chum,"  said  Sue.  "  And 
so  I'm  awfully  glad  to  get  you  back,  not  a  bit 
spoiled,  and  not — married." 

Phil  stared.     "Married!"  he  repeated.     "  Me?  " 

"  Hillcrest  needs  a  mistress,  Phil." 

"  Suppose  I  were  to  pull  a  long  face  and  say : 
'  Sue,  Arbor  Lodge  needs  a  master '  ?  "  He  drew 
off  his  cap  and  stuffed  it  into  the  front  of  his  shirt, 
shook  his  head  vigorously,  so  that  the  morning  wind 
could  catch  at  his  hair,  and  rolled  his  sleeves  up  to 
his  elbow,  showing  two  stout  arms  as  brown  as  the 
pony  under  him. 


The  Genevleve  Epidemic  155 

"  I'm  so  homely,"  said  Sue,  "  that  I'm  marriage- 
proof." 

"  Sue," — very  earnestly — "  I  didn't  see  a  single 
girl  on  the  other  side  that  I  could  fall  in  love  with. 
I  guess  it'll  have  to  be  an  American  that  takes  my 
mother's  place." 

Sue  waved  her  whip.  "  Down  with  foreign  alli 
ances  !  " 

"  Oh,  there  wasn't  anything  patriotic  about  it," 
said  Phil.  "I  just  didn't  see  the  girl." 

"  You're  calloused,"  asserted  Sue.  "  You've 
played  polo  so  long  that  you've  got  a  basswood  ball 
for  a  heart.  Here  you  are,  twenty-six,  hand 
some " 

"  Loyalty,  thy  name  is  Sue  Townsend ! " 

"  And  wholesome  and  good  and  awfully  popular ; 
and  rich,  too,  with  such  a  place,  such  woods  and 
streams ! " 

"  And  such  a  blarney  of  a  little  friend,"  added 
Phil. 

"  It's  not  blarney,"  Sue  declared.  "  No ;  I  leave 
all  that  for  Larry.  Phil,  where  did  you  pick  him 
up?" 

Phil  gave  a  quick  glance  round  at  the  red-cheeked, 
red-haired  groom  riding  at  the  prescribed  distance 
behind.  "  He  was  born  in  Dublin,"  said  he,  grin 
ning,  "  and  I  got  him  in  Hongkong.  He  hasn't 
been  twenty  feet  away  from  me  since.  The  fellows 
call  him  my  *  shadow.'  " 

"  But,  of  course,  you're  sure  to  meet  your  fate 
some  day,"  went  on  Sue.  "  And  your  kind,  when 
they  do  fall  in  love,  get  fearfully  hard  hit." 

"Huh!" 


156  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Sue  nodded  wisely.  "  I  don't  believe  you'll  even 
survive  what's  in  store  for  you  this  very  week,"  she 
declared. 

"No?     What  is  it?" 

"  She's  coming  to  The  Lilacs  to-day  to  stay  a 
month — Mrs.  Vander  Laan  knew  her  mother.  Last 
year  she  visited  me.  She's  tall  and  slender,  and  has 
the  most  beautiful  eyes,  and  hair,  and  nose,  and 
mouth,  and  complexion " 

"  Hold!     Hold!"  cried  Phil,  in  mock  alarm. 

"  She's  perfect,  in  fact.  Let's  take  this  dapply 
road." 

"  Haven't  time — the  fellows  expect  me  at  prac 
tice.  Go  on  about  the  goddess." 

"  She  is  a  goddess.  And  everybody  worships 
at  her  shrine.  You've  heard  of  faces  that 
haunt?  " 

"  Creditors  ?  "  suggested  Phil. 

"  I  met  her  first  at  Miss  Pendleton's.  She  ruled 
the  school,  she  was  so  beautiful.  No  man's  ever 
seen  her  without  capitulating." 

"  Number  one,"  announced  Phil,  pointing  at  his 
chest.  "  What's  her  name?  " 

"  Genevieve." 

"  I  never  cared  for  it."  He  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  If  I  get  to  the  field  in  time  I'll  have  to  turn  now. 
Want  to  come  along?" 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't."  Sue  wheeled  the  gtey. 
"  Grandmamma  hasn't  been  well  lately.  I  shall  stay 
with  her  to-day.  Let's  race  home." 

Galloping  level,  the  grey  and  the  brown  made  back 
along  the  shaded  road,  with  the  wind  tugging  harder 
than  ever  at  Phil's  hair,  and  blowing  out  wisps 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  157 

against  Sue's  pink  cheeks.  At  the  wide,  stone  gate 
of  Arbor  Lodge  they  drew  rein. 

"  See  you  to-morrow?  "  he  asked. 

"  Telephone  me,"  said  Sue.  "  Meanwhile,  you 
may  meet  Genevieve.  And  I  warn  you " 

"Rubbish!  "said  Phil. 

The  polo  enthusiasts  of  the  Brampton  Country 
Club  were  in  despair;  in  particular,  three  members 
of  the  team  reserved  for  the  Hadbury  game  were 
pulling  their  hair  wildly.  But  the  fourth  member 
was  apparently  indifferent  to  the  awfulness  of  the 
situation — a  situation  of  which  he  was  himself  the 
cause.  And  the  reason  for  his  indifference  was  not 
far  to  seek.  The  majority  of  the  club  knew  it  quite 
as  well  as  if  he  had  put  up  blue-and-white  enameled 
signs  beside  the  advertisements  of  automobile  tires 
on  every  fence  in  that  part  of  the  country,  and  on 

the  signs  one  line:  The  Brampton 's  Captam  is 

But  wait. 

In  their  anxiety,  the  trio  who  were  to  go  against 
Hadbury  called  in  solemn  conclave  upon  Sue  Town- 
send.  Not  that  Sue  was  in  any  way  implicated — 
Sue  had  never  been  concerned  in  an  affair  of  this 
particular  sort.  The  three  players  wished  to  state 
the  case  to  her  and  ask  her  immediate  aid. 

"We  shan't  keep  you  a  minute,"  began  Leonard 
Hammond,  when  Sue  greeted  her  visitors  in  the 
library  at  Arbor  Lodge,  "  I  see  you're  going  out. 
But " — his  tone  was  mournful — "  it's  something 
horribly  serious."  (Mr.  Hammond  had  constituted 
himself  the  first  spokesman  because,  playing  Num 
ber  One  in  the  team,  he  realised  his  Captain's  value.) 


158  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Sue  was  very  smart  in  a  linen  habit,  and  she  gave 
the  three  glum  faces  an  encouraging  and  hospitable 
smile.  "  Oh,  it  won't  matter  in  the  least  if  you  keep 
me  a  few  minutes,"  she  declared,  shaking  hands 
warmly.  "  Do  sit  down."  She  indicated  the  library 
couch.  "  You  see,  I'm  only  going  for  a  ride,  and 
Phil  hasn't  come  yet."  She  took  a  plump  chair 
which  was  in  front  of  the  couch  and  leaned  back  to 
recover  breath  after  her  tripping  rush  down  the 
stairs. 

"  Phil!  "  repeated  the  three  in  chorus,  and  dropped 
rather  precipitately  upon  the  couch.  Then :  "  We 
are  just  in  time!" — this  from  Mr.  Hammond. 

Sue  leaned  forward  suddenly.  Her  eyes  were 
dark-blue  and  heavy-lashed,  and  now  they  looked 
her  solicitude.  "  Is  something — wrong  with  Phil?  " 
she  asked. 

Mr.  Courtney  Graves,  Second  Forward  of  the 
team,  almost  stared  at  her.  "  Wrong?  "  he  repeated. 
"Haven't  you  heard?" 

"  No."  She  looked  from  one  to  another,  the  colour 
going  from  her  cheeks.  "Bob!  What  is  it?" 

Mr.  Robert  St.  Ives,  Half-back,  began:  "It's 
a  mess,  Sue,  hanged  if  it  isn't ! — a  confounded  mess. 
Phil  was  to  play  against  the  Hadbury  team,  you 
know,  and  reserved  us  for  the  game." 

"Yes."  With  one  hand  Sue  smoothed  a  round 
gold  locket  that  hung  between  the  lapels  of  her  coat. 

"  Now,"  continued  Mr.  St.  Ives,  biting  each  word 
short  to  give  it  full  significance,  "  — now,  all  at  once, 
he's  dropped  off  in  his  practice,  says  he  doesn't  want 
to  go  to  Hadbury,  wants  me  to  be  captain — rot! 
And  he  spends  his  time  in  his  car,  while  his  ponies 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  159 

hammer  their  legs  to  pieces  in  their  boxes.  We  got 
that  much  from  Larry." 

She  leaned  back  once  more,  relieved  and  smiling. 
"  Why  has  Phil  changed  ?  "  she  inquired  in  mild  sur 
prise. 

"  Because  he  wants  to  stay  at  Brampton,"  an 
swered  Mr.  St.  Ives  forcibly,  "  and  motor  when  he 
can,  or  hang  out  on  the  club  veranda  when  she  won't 
motor.  That's  why." 

"She?"   said   Sue,   under  her  breath.     "Who?" 

Mr.  Courtney  Graves  stood  up  and  pointed,  first 
to  the  fireplace,  then  to  a  writing-desk,  last  of  all 
to  a  panel  between  two  bookcases.  Above  the  fire 
place,  on  the  carved  mantel,  was  the  full-length  por 
trait  of  a  beautiful  girl — a  dark,  imperious,  queenly 
girl  in  ball  dress.  On  the  writing-desk,  in  delicate 
frames  of  hand-wrought  silver,  were  two  other  photo 
graphs  of  the  same  girl.  One  of  these  showed  her  in 
a  trailing  carriage-coat,  with  furs ;  the  other  was  a 
lake  scene,  and  she  was  seated  in  a  drifting  boat, 
with  a  ruffled  parasol  shading  her  lovely  face.  In 
the  panel  between  the  bookcase  was  a  fourth  picture 
of  the  selfsame  subject — an  etching  done  with  great 
skill  and  effectiveness.  The  dark  girl,  gowned  in 
clinging  white,  was  shown  against  a  massed  back 
ground.  A  flowered  hat  rested  upon  her  poised 
head;  one  hand  was  outstretched  to  feed  a  fawn. 

"  He  has  it ! "  announced  Mr.  Graves  portent 
ously;  "he's  another  added  to  the  epidemic.  Sue, 
Phil  Rawson's  in  love  with  Genevieve  Unger." 
Whereupon  he  sank  between  his  companions. 

Sue  did  not  speak,  but  sat  regarding  them  from 
the  depths  of  her  chair. 


160  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  It's  a  particularly  bad  case,"  said  Mr.  Ham 
mond,  "  and  we  fear  the  worst." 

"The  worst?"  questioned  Sue  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You  know  Miss  Unger.  Is  she  going  to  let  Hill- 
crest  slip  through  her  fingers?  Hang  these  visiting 
girls,  anyhow!  They  always  create  trouble." 

Sue  put  up  a  gloved  hand  quickly.  "  Please  don't 
criticise  Genevieve  to  me,  Len,"  she  said.  "  She's 
my  friend." 

"  Just  the  same,  you  know  what  she'll  do,"  per 
sisted  Mr.  Hammond.  "  She'll  keep  Phil  dangling 
as  long  as  she  can — perhaps  one  month,  perhaps 
two — then  she'll  haughtily  accept  him.  Meanwhile, 
what'll  he  be  good  for?  Polo?  And  the  Hadbury 
game  comes  off  in  just  ten  days.  We'll  lose  it  with 
out  him."  He  nursed  a  knee  disconsolately. 

"  We  thought,"  began  Mr.  Graves,  taking  up  the 
matter  where  Mr.  Hammond  had  left  off,  "  that  you 
might  be  able  to  shorten  the  period  of  agony — the 
dangling  period,  I  mean.  If  Miss  Unger  imagined 
there  was  the  least  danger  that  she'd  lose  him,  why, 
she'd  grab  him." 

"  Yes,  she  would,"  declared  Mr.  St.  Ives.  "  Her 
visit  at  The  Lilacs  is  up  pretty  soon.  Where'll  she 
go  next  ? " 

"  Here,"  said  Sue  quietly,  "  — if  any  one  is  speak 
ing  unkindly  of  her." 

"  That's  lucky  for  her"  went  on  Mr.  Graves. 
"  Your  hospitality  isn't  to  be  sneezed  at  by  a  girl 
who  likes  to  spend  all  of  her  income  on  her  duds." 

Sue  rose.  "  Really,"  she  said,  "  I  can't  listen  any 
longer.  Genevieve  is  the  handsomest  girl  in  the 
State  of  New  York.  She's  a  darling  to  boot.  And 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  161 

you  gentlemen " — this  with  studied  candor — 
"  would  have  less  to  say  if  each  and  every  one  of 
you  had  not  been  given  your — your " 

"Mitten?"  suggested  Mr.   St.   Ives   politely. 

"  — Last  year,"  concluded  Sue.  "  I'm  sorry  I've 
listened  to  a  single  unkind  thing  about  her.  I  in 
sist  that  you  talk  of  something  else  while  you  re 
main." 

"  We'd  better  go,  then^"  said  Mr.  Hammond,  his 
face  eloquent  of  woe.  "  We  came  to  talk  about  j  list 
that,  you  see.  There  isn't  a  dashier  player,  or  a 
stronger  hitter,  or  a  better  shot  at  goal  in  West- 
chester  County.  Of  course,  there's  Tommy  Watts. 
He  could  sub.  But  none  of  us  want  Tommy,  he's 
so  wild  with  that  whippy  stick  of  his.  Oh,  why — 
why " 

"  I  haven't  seen  Phil  for  nearly  two  weeks,"  said 
Sue.  "Grandmamma  has  been  quite  ill." 

"How  is  Mrs.  Townsend?  "  inquired  Mr.  St.  Ives. 
"  Pardon  our  forgetting  to  ask.  We're  so  con 
founded  worried " 

"  Phil's  happiness  must  come  before  polo,"  went 
on  Sue  very  decidedly.  "  Surely  you  didn't  think 
that  I  would  conspire  against  him." 

"Oh,  nothing  of  the  sort!"  cried  Mr.  Graves. 
"  Our  hope  wasn't  that  you  would  butt  in — that 
is,  interefere  unpleasantly — and  break  things  up. 
On  the  contrary,  we  wanted  you  to — er — well,  to 
sort  of  stampede  Genevieve  so  that  she'd  say  '  Yes  ' 
at  once,  or  maybe  elope.  Oh,  if  Phil  only  had  an 
old  cat  of  a  mother  who  would  oppose  the  match !  " 

Sue  looked  down  at  her  boots.  Then,  after  a  mo 
ment's  thought :  "  If  you  like  Phil,  and  think  so 


162  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

badly  of  Genevieve,"  she  argued,  "  why  should  you 
wish  to  see  them  marry?  I  refuse  to  be  the  cat." 

"  The  Hadbury  game  1 '"  cried  Mr.  Hammond. 
"  Sue,  we  want  to  win  that  game ! " 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  if  Phil  really  loves  Genevieve, 
and  if  Genevieve  loves  Phil,  I'll  try  my  best  to — to 
• — but  I  make  you  no  promise.  I  shall  think  only 
of  their  happiness,  of  course." 

The  three  filed  to  the  door.  There  they  turned. 
"  Point  out  to  Genevieve,"  suggested  Mr.  St.  Ives, 
"  that  Hillcrest  is  an  ideal  place  for  entertaining." 

"  And  mention,"  added  Mr.  Graves,  "  that  Phil's 
income  is  in  the  first  flight — oh,  don't  omit  that." 

"  But,  above  all  things,  cut  down  the  dangling," 
— this  from  Mr.  Hammond.  They  shook  hands  with 
her  impressively  and  filed  out  into  the  hall. 

Sue  returned  to  the  plump  chair  and  sat  down. 
Directly  before  her  was  the  writing-desk  with  its 
pair  of  silver-bordered  photographs.  She  studied 
the  pictures  earnestly  for  a  while.  And  when  she 
turned  from  them  it  was  to  go  to  a  mirror  and  look 
at  her  own  reflection — long  and  keenly  and  with 
honest  eyes.  There  were  her  horseback  freckles, 
dotting  her  nose  as  the  stars  dot  the  sky,  and  her 
square,  little,  undimpled  chin,  and  her  sunburned 
cheeks,  roughened  by  all  the  winds  of  spring.  "  Ah," 
she  said  at  last,  "  she  is  so  beautiful.  I  love  her  for 
her  beauty,  too.  I  don't  blame  anybody  for  loving 
her."  Then  she  left  the  mirror  and  went  back  to 
the  chair  before  the  couch. 

Many  another  person  had  contrasted  the  two. 
And  not  a  few  of  the  Country  Club  members  openly 
asserted — and  with  wrath — that  Genevieve  Unger's 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  163 

desire  for  Sue  Townsend's  society  lay  in  the  fact 
that  Sue,  with  her  wisp  of  a  figure  and  her  irregular 
little  face,  served  as  a  contrast  to  the  other  girl's 
stateliness  and  radiant  beauty.  But  there  were 
other  striking  contrasts  between  the  girls,  apart 
from  the  one  of  looks.  As  one  club  wag  put  it,  a 
mere  comparison  of  their  footwear  accounts  for  the 
year  presented  the  essential  difference  between  them. 
During  the  season,  Sue  wore  out  two  pairs  of  riding- 
boots,  tan;  one  pair  of  riding  boots,  black;  one  pair 
of  boots  for  climbing;  three  pairs  of  stout  shoes 
for  morning  wear;  six  pairs  of  sandals  suitable  for 
use  in  the  surf;  ten  pairs  of  tennis  shoes,  and  two 
pairs  of  slippers ;  while  Genevieve's  list  for  the  same 
length  of  time  included  six  pairs  of  boudoir  slip 
pers  ;  six  pairs  of  carriage  shoes — to  match  as  many 
gowns ;  one  pair  of  high-heeled  shoes  unsuitable  for 
street  wear;  and  twenty- two  pairs  of  slippers  in  vel 
vet,  satin  and  kid. 

But  to  Sue,  ready  for  her  ride  forty  minutes 
ahead  of  the  appointed  time,  only  one  contrast  ap 
peared.  And  when  Mr.  Raws  on  was  announced  she 
sprang  from  her  chair,  bade  the  servant  tell  him 
that  she  would  be  down  in  one  moment,  and  fled  up 
the  stairs  to  her  dressing-room,  where  she  dabbed 
a  bit  of  powder  upon  the  offending  nose,  fluffed  out 
her  hair  at  either  temple,  and  donned  a  white  chiffon 
veil. 

But  Phil  barely  glanced  at  her  as  she  came  out 
to  her  horse.  His  eyes,  blue  like  her  own,  had  a  far 
away  expression  in  them,  and  he  answered  her  greet 
ing  absent-mindedly.  When  he  had  put  her  up  and 
mounted  his  own  pony  he  rode  away  beside  her  at  a 


164  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

walk,  his  look  fixed  ahead  of  him  eagerly  but  un 
seeing;  his  lips  parted  in  a  faint  smile.  Behind 
them,  at  the  prescribed  distance,  followed  the  red- 
cheeked,  red-haired  groom. 

Sue  said  nothing,  letting  her  companion  have  all 
his  thoughts  for  himself.  Every  now  and  then  she 
gave  him  a  quick,  inquiring  glance. 

When  he  broke  silence  at  last  he  spoke  musingly 
• — almost  as  if  to  himself.  "  What  a  day  to  be  at 
the  dentist's,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  he  won't  hurt  her." 

"  Dentist's?  "  inquired  Sue.     "  Who's  gone?  " 

"  Why — Miss  Unger."  He  coloured  self-consci 
ously. 

"Oh,  has  she?"  went  on  Sue,  surprised.  "Are 
you  sure?  I  thought  this  was  the  date  for  that 
lawn  fete  at  the  Fanshaws' — Greenwich,  you  know 
— for  the  benefit  of  something  or  other.  Genevieve 
telephoned  me  she'd  promised  to  go  and  sell  fudge." 

"  But  she  went  to  town  instead," — this  with  fin 
ality. 

At  this  point,  Sue  thought  of  Messrs.  Hammond, 
Graves  and  St.  Ives,  and  of  the  oncoming  contest 
at  Hadbury.  "Did  you  play  this  morning?"  she 
asked.  "  I  suppose  the  team  is  getting  splendidly 
drilled." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  answered  vaguely.  He  was 
looking  far  ahead  once  more. 

"  I  think  I'll  ask  Genevieve  to  drive  to  Hadbury 
with  me  the  day  of  the  game,"  resumed  Sue. 

He  turned  toward  her,  then,  undisguised  pleas 
ure  brightening  his  face :  "  How  you  always  think 
of  doing  nice  things  for  others !  "  he  said.  "  Go, 
Sue.  It'll  be  a  corking  match." 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  165 

"  I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  anything.  And,  of  course, 
I'd  take  Genevieve.  One  can't  help  doing  nice  things 
for  her.  Isn't  she  beautiful,  Phil!"  She  said  it 
earnestly. 

"  So  beautiful  that  most  of  the  girls  aren't  espe 
cially  kind  to  her,"  Phil  answered.  "  Just  this  morn 
ing  Elizabeth  Carlton  had  to  throw  out  something 
— a  nasty  hint,  you  understand.  It  was  about 
Valentine,  that  English  chap  who's  been  at  the  club 
so  much  lately." 

"  I  really  don't  know  him,"  returned  Sue.  "  But 
I've  heard " 

"  Yes,  and  I'll  wager  it's  all  true,"  went  on  Phil 
hotly.  "  He  isn't  the  sort  of  a  man  you'd  like  to 
see  her  marry." 

u  Phil,  you've  fallen  a  victim,  too,"  said  Sue 
gently. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  I  told  you  you  would." 

After  that  the  conversation  was  still  of  Genevieve, 
until  the  gates  of  Arbor  Lodge  were  passed  again — 
of  Genevieve,  the  queenly ;  Genevieve,  the  faultless ; 
and  (with  a  little  embarrassment  on  Phil's  part)  of 
Genevieve,  the  trampler  of  hearts. 

"  You'll  be  at  practice  to-morrow  morning,  won't 
you?"  asked  Sue,  from  the  terrace  steps.  "Let 
me  know  when  you  can  ride  again.  I  hate  going 
out  alone." 

Phil  headed  his  horse  toward  home.  "  Oh,  yes, 
I'll  play  in  the  morning,"  he  answered ;  "  but  I'll 
take  a  car  out  in  the  afternoon,  probably.  Good 
bye,  Sue."  And  with  Larry  following  hard  on  his 
tracks  he  galloped  away. 


166  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Sue  drove  over  to  The  Lilacs  immediately  after 
breakfast,  the  day  of  the  Hadbury  game — to  find 
Genevieve  still  in  a  soft  dressing-gown  of  cobwebby 
lace  and  pink  ribbons,  lazily  sipping  her  chocolate. 
She  held  up  a  satin  cheek  to  be  kissed. 

"  I'm  on  time,  you  see,"  laughed  Sue.  "  But  don't 
hurry.  I've  got  the  Lenox  wagon  and  the  bay 
ponies,  and  we'll  go  a-zipping.  How  did  the  lawn 
fete  turn  out?  " 

Genevieve  did  not  look  up,  but  broke  her  toast 
with  tapering  fingers.  "  I  didn't  go,"  she  said  care 
lessly,  after  a  moment  of  silence. 

"  Oh ! "  Sue's  tone  was  one  of  relief.  "  So  you 
went  to  town,  after  all — Phil  said  you  had.  We 
hoped  the  dentist  didn't  hurt  you." 

A  shade  of  annoyance  crossed  the  face  of  the 
other  girl.  Then,  "  He  didn't,  thank  you,"  she  said 
shortly,  and  got  up  to  make  ready  for  the  drive. 

The  two  arrived  at  Hadbury  in  plenty  of  time. 
It  was  a  perfect  morning — the  sun  warm,  the  air 
soft  and  still,  the  sky  cloudless — and  the  scene  at 
the  polo-field  was  a  gay  one.  On  one  side  of  the 
rectangle  rose  the  "ladies'  stand,"  a  grassy  slope 
occupied  by  little  groups  of  people  who  had  come  on 
foot;  on  the  other  side,  at  a  discreet  distance,  was 
a  line  of  vehicles.  Sue  guided  her  scampering  ponies 
midway  of  the  line,  between  two  other  teams.  Phil 
came  over  to  them  for  a  moment.  Others  gathered, 
too,  until  there  was  a  man  for  every  spoke  of  the 
nigh  front  wheel,  and  dark-eyed  Genevieve  held  a 
little  court. 

There  were  no  callers  at  the  off  wheel,  and  Sue 
had  all  her  attention  for  the  lines.  So  she  protested 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  167 

to  Phil  against  his  having  sent  the  red-haired,  red- 
cheeked  Shadow  to  stand  at  her  horses'  heads.  "  I 
don't  need  him,"  she  said,  "  and  it  makes  the  ponies 
cross  to  be  held." 

"  Larry  came  of  his  own  accord,"  whispered  Phil. 
"  He's  an  obliging  lad,  and  he  likes  you." 

At  that,  Sue  brightened  and  observed  the  red- 
haired  lad  pleasantly.  But  Larry  did  not  see  her 
kindly  glance.  Standing  straight,  with  heel  to  heel 
and  a  hand  at  either  bit,  his  gaze  was  fixed  in  open, 
undisguised  wonderment  upon  the  beautiful  Miss 
Unger. 

Soon  the  match  began — and  went  superbly.  To 
quote  Mr.  Hammond,  it  was  "  the  greatest  ever  since 
the  Persians  played  polo,  by  Jove !  "  Upon  the  vivid 
green  of  the  field  went  the  teams,  playing  a  hard- 
galloping,  hard-hitting  game,  in  which  Phil  parti 
cularly  distinguished  himself.  He  rode  the  brown 
pony,  and  his  sleeves  were  rolled  up,  his  head  was 
bare,  despite  the  heavy  sticks  that  described  circles 
about  him,  his  hair  flew  in  the  wind  like  a  young 
Indian's  Now  his  orders  rang  out  sharp  and  clear 
—"Take  the  ball!"  or  "  Back-hander  there!"  or 
"  Ride  the  man  and  leave  the  ball !  "  And  his  mount 
sped  up  and  down ;  his  square-headed  stick  did  skil 
ful  work. 

"  It's  an  education  to  watch  him,"  declared  Sue 
enthusiastically,  as  a  rousing  bravo  from  a  group 
of  onlooking  men  went  up,  for  Phil  had  just  dashed 
in,  changed  places  with  Number  Three  and  made  a 
brilliant  stroke. 

Genevieve  did  not  answer.  She  was  talking  to  a 
tall  man  with  a  face  the  approximate  shade  of 


168  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Larry's.  "  May  I  present  Mr.  Valentine? "  she 
asked  presently,  with  some  affectation,  "  — late  of 
the  English  Army,  you  know." 

Sue  bowed. 

"  Churmed,"  observed  Mr.  Valentine,  in  what  was  to 
Sue  an  entirely  new  British  mode  of  pronunciation. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  period  Phil  came  over  to 
the  wagon  a  second  time  and  chatted  with  Gene- 
vieve,  who  was  looking  particularly  handsome  in  a 
mauve  linen  and  a  tailored  hat — so  handsome  that 
Sue,  dressed  in  less  striking  colours,  seemed  white  and 
tired  in  comparison.  Again  a  group  was  gathered 
at  Genevieve's  side  of  the  wagon,  but  Sue,  more 
quiet  than  was  her  wont,  had  no  smiles  for  them. 
She  looked  away  between  the  paper  goal-posts  that, 
painted  in  wide  cream-and-blue  bands,  loomed  up 
near  by  like  giant  sticks  of  candy. 

"This  afternoon  he'll  motor" — it  was  Mr.  St. 
Ives  who  was  talking;  he  was  standing  beside  Phil. 
"  To-morrow  afternoon  he'll  motor.  The  next  after 
noon  he'll  go  out  in  his  car."  Then  he  made  a  wry 
face  and  reached  over  the  back  of  the  seat  to  seize 
Sue's  fingers  and  squeeze  them  gratefully  under  a 
pretext  of  shaking  hands. 

"  Will  you  go  this  afternoon,  Miss  Unger? " 
asked  Phil.  "  My  ten  minutes  are  nearly  up,  aren't 
they,  Sue?" 

"  Sue's  only  got  her  locket,"  said  Miss  Unger  with 
a  lazy  smile. 

"Well,  what's  the  time  by  your  locket,  Sue?" 
demanded  Mr.  St.  Ives,  and  reached  for  it. 

Sue  slipped  the  locket  inside  her  shirtwaist. 

"  Say  yes,  Miss  Unger,"  urged  Phil. 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  169 

"  I'm  fearfully  sorry — I  really  can't  go  this 
afternoon."  Genevieve  gave  a  quick  glance  past 
Phil  to  the  man  behind  him — Valentine.  "  I  have 
an  engagement." 

At  that,  Phil  fell  back,  his  face  suddenly  grave, 
lifted  a  hand  in  a  gay  salute  and  strode  away. 

But  throughout  the  remainder  of  the  game  he 
played  harder  than  ever,  and  with  such  coolness, 
resource  and  accuracy  that  there  was  frequent  hand- 
clapping  from  the  line  of  vehicles,  and  even  Had- 
bury  parasols  were  waved  from  the  ladies'  stand; 
while  to  one  side,  where  the  extra  ponies  waited, 
groom  leaned  to  groom,  commenting  excitedly.  But 
when  the  match  was  done,  with  the  Brampton  team 
victors,  he  disappeared,  and  Sue  did  not  see  him 
again.  She  got  away  as  soon  as  she  could  manage 
it,  and  turned  the  bays  homeward  at  top  speed. 

"Don't  you  think  Mr.  Valentine  handsome?" 
asked  Genevieve,  as  they  rolled  along.  "  Soldierly, 
I  think." 

"  Bob  doesn't  believe  the  man  has  ever  been  in 
the  army,"  said  Sue.  "  And  he  says  Mr.  Valentine 
owes  every  one  in  Brampton." 

Genevieve  opened  her  eyes.  "  Why,  Sue ! "  she 
exclaimed.  "  I've  never  heard  you  repeat  things 
against  any  one  before.  Mr.  Valentine  has  plenty 
of  money.  And  shopkeepers  always  gossip  to  curry 
favor  with  servants." 

"  And  Bob  says  he  gambles,"  persisted  Sue.  "  I 
like  you  too  well  to  see  him  claim  any  of  your  at 
tention." 

"  Don't  all  men  gamble?  "   demanded  Genevieve. 

"  Not  professionally — that's   common." 

Genevieve  put  up  her  pretty  chin.     "  It's  hardly 


170  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

any  commoner  than  gossip,"  she  answered.  "  How 
ever,  I've  noticed  that  if  a  man  is  distinguished  he 
gets  a  lot  of  criticism.  But  " — with  a  shrug — "  one 
never  minds  the  criticism  of  kids." 

Sue  said  nothing. 

She  left  Genevieve  at  The  Lilacs  and  went  home. 
But  she  had  only  arrived  when  she  was  summoned 
to  the  telephone.  As  she  took  the  receiver  she 
could  hear  sobbing.  Then,  "  Sue !  "  wailed  a  voice 
— Genevieve's ;  "  1-look  in  the  wagon,  Sue.  I — I 
lost  my  p-purse  this  morning."  She  began  to  sob 
again. 

Sue  gave  a  prompt  order.  "  Dear  Genevieve," 
she  answered  back,  "  don't  worry.  The  purse  is 
sure  to  turn  up."  A  few  minutes  later  she  was  in 
the  carriage-house,  dressed  for  riding.  And  when 
she  learned  that  no  purse  had  been  found,  telephoned 
Genevieve  again  before  mounting  the  grey  to  ride 
to  The  Lilacs. 

Genevieve  was  gone  to  Hadbury  when  Sue  arrived, 
Phil  having  urged  that  an  advertisement  be  placed 
at  once  in  the  Star,  together  with  the  offer  of  a  suit 
able  reward. 

"  Then  Phil  came,  after  all,"  said  Sue.  She  was 
walking  to  and  fro  in  the  old-fashioned  drawing- 
room. 

"  I  called  him,"  answered  Mrs.  Vander  Laan,  who 
was  a  little  old  lady  with  an  enthusiastic  liking  for 
young  people.  "  When  he  got  here  he  telephoned 
to  have  the  field  searched ;  then  started.  The  reward 
is  to  be  one  hundred  dollars." 

"That  much?"  asked  the  girl.  "The  purse 
must  have  contained  a  good  deal." 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  171 

"  Exactly  seven  hundred,"  said  Mrs.  Vander 
Laan ;  "  all  of  her  month's  allowance.  Wasn't  she 
foolish  to  be  carrying  so  much  about  with  her!  But 
the  sweet  child  was  so  pretty  as  she  wept." 

"  Seven  hundred ! "  exclaimed  Sue.  "  Has  she 
any  idea  where  she  lost  it?" 

"  She  thinks  it  was  when  she  was  just  starting  for 
home.  She  remembers  having  the  purse  when  she 
was  still  at  the  polo-field.  She  says  you  drove  so 
rapidly " 

"  I  did,"  admitted  Sue,  conscience-stricken. 
"  Oh,  I  sha'n't  let  her  lose  it,  Mrs.  Vander  Laan. 
It  was  my  fault.  Why  didn't  she  deposit  it  in  a 
bank  that  day  she  went  into  town  ?  " 

Mrs.  Vander  Laan  was  embroidering.  Now  she 
suddenly  stopped  and  looked  up  at  Sue.  "  But  she 
hasn't  been  to  town,"  she  declared. 

"Not  to  the  dentist's?"  asked  Sue,  "—the  day 
of  the  Fanshaw  garden  fete?  " 

"  No,  dear.  She  went  driving  with  Mr.  Valen 
tine." 

"  Oh."     Sue  began  to  walk  the  floor  again. 

She  was  still  walking  when  Genevieve  and  Phil 
came  in.  "  Genevieve,  I'm  so  sorry,"  she  cried,  giv 
ing  her  hand  to  the  other  girl.  "  Tell  me  something 
to  do." 

Genevieve  met  her  sympathy  ungraciously.  "  Oh, 
don't  bother,"  she  said  with  a  little  irritation.  "  I'd 
rather  not  have  such  a  fuss  made  about  it."  Then, 
to  Mrs.  Vander  Laan :  "  May  we  have  tea,  mutter- 
chen?  Sue,  take  Mr.  Rawson  home  with  you  and 
jolly  him  up  with  some  tennis." 

But  Phil  did  not  look  like  a  candidate  for  "  jolly- 


172  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

ing  up."  He  turned  to  Sue.  "  To  think  that  Miss 
Unger  carried  the  money  all  around  New  York  that 
afternoon  in  a  hand-bag  that  anybody  might  have 
grabbed,"  he  said,  "  and  then  lost  it  at  the  polo 
match." 

Mrs.  Vander  Laan  had  stopped  to  look  up  again. 
Sue  was  close  by,  suddenly  pink  with  embarrassment 
for  Genevieve,  who  was  rattling  the  cups  and  sauc 
ers  at  the  tea-table. 

"All  around  New  York?"  repeated  Mrs.  Vander 
Laan.  "Why  do  you  say  that,  Mr.  Rawson?  Gene 
vieve  hasn't  been  to  New  York." 

Genevieve  whirled  toward  them  now,  anger  flam 
ing  in  her  cheeks.  "  Oh,  please,  please  let  the  mat 
ter  of  the  money  drop ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  If  I'd 
staked  it  at  bridge  and  lost  it  you'd  have  all  thought 
it  a  good  joke." 

"  Indeed  not"  replied  the  little  old  lady,  suddenly 
sitting  up.  "  I  think  gambling " 

But  what  she  thought  was  left  unsaid.  For  at 
that  moment  the  drawing-room  door  was  opened 
by  a  maid  and  Mr.  Aubrey  Valentine  was  announced. 

Phil  went  home  in  the  wake  of  Sue's  pony. 
Once  she  glanced  round  at  him  as  she  galloped.  His 
lips  were  set,  his  feet  were  braced,  his  cap  was  pulled 
far  down.  He  circled  his  machine  into  the  drive 
way  leading  up  to  Arbor  Lodge  with  preciseness. 

They  were  out  in  the  wicker  chairs  at  the  tennis- 
court  before  he  spoke.  Then  he  faced  her  squarely 
and  blurted  out  one  sentence:  "  Sue,  she  lied  to 
me." 

"Now,  Phil,"  began  Sue,  "didn't  you  ask  her 
something  you  had  no  right  to  ask  You  met  her 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  173 

two  weeks  ago — just  two  weeks.  Since  then  you've 
claimed  her  time  pretty  steadily,  haven't  you?  She 
didn't  want  to  go  out  with  you  that  day ;  she  wanted 
to  do  something  else." 

"  She  lied  to  me,"  repeated  Phil. 

"  She  may  have  fibbed.  Most  women  do  that. 
You  cornered  her,  probably." 

"  It  wasn't  necessary  to  lie." 

"  She  thought  it  was." 

"  Where  did  she  go  ?  "     His  eyes  narrowed. 

Sue  shook  her  head  smiling.  "  Have  you  any 
right  to  know,  Phil?  Now,  think?" 

"  No.  But  you  remember  Elizabeth  Carlton's 

nasty  hint?  I  spoke  of  it.  Is  it  possible "  He 

turned  away  impatiently. 

"  Listen,  Phil,"  she  begged.  "  I'll  ask  Genevieve 
about  it,  and  then  tell  you  what  she  says.  She'll 
explain  it  all  satisfactorily,  I'm  sure.  The  dear 
girl  is  so  worried  to-day,  Phil,  she's  likely  to  say 
almost  anything.  Seven  hundred  is  a  lot  to  lose." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  asking  her,"  said  Phil.  "  I 
suppose  you're  right."  He  chose  a  racquet  and 
played  until  early  twilight.  Then,  bareheaded  and 
smiling  once  more,  he  went  chugging  away  down 
the  drive. 

Larry  met  him  as  he  turned  in  at  the  gate  of  his 
own  estate.  The  man  was  not  in  his  wonted  livery, 
but  was  outward  bound  along  the  drive,  dressed  in 
a  Sixth  Avenue  copy  of  Phil's  newest  Fifth  Avenue 
lounge  suit — a  copy  that  had  exaggerated  scallops 
cut  out  of  cuffs  and  pocket-flaps.  "  I've  got  news, 
sir,"  he  announced,  holding  up  a  hand. 

"News? — about  what,  Larry?     Jump  in."     The 


174  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

car  came  to  a  stop  under  the  arc-light  at  the 
gate. 

"  Jim  come  home  from  Hadbury  at  six,  sir,"  be 
gan  Larry,  his  red  face  blowzier  than  usual  and  his 
eyes  wide  with  excitement ;  "  and  he  says  to  me, 
'Larry,  the  Princess'  (that's  what  we  call  Miss 
Unger,  sir — 'the  Princess  lost  seven  hunderd-dol- 
lar  bills  at  the  Hadbury  polo-grounds  to-day.'  I 
kicked  my  heels  clean  into  the  air,  sir,  I  was  that 
happy " 

"Why,  Larry!" 

"  I  found  'em,  sir."  Now  his  face  was  fairly 
purple  with  joy. 

"  You  found  them !  "  repeated  his  master.  "  Well, 
that  is  luck!" 

"  Here,  sir."  Larry  produced  a  slender  purse 
of  brown  seal  from  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat. 
"  You  was  gone  before  I  could  tell  you." 

"  Are  you  sure  it's  Miss  Unger's  ?  "  asked  Phil. 

"  I  haven't  looked  into  it,  sir." 

Seated,  heads  together,  they  opened  the  purse. 
"  Two,  four,  six,  seven,"  counted  Phil,  lifting  the 
crisp  bills  when  he  had  flattened  them  out.  "  Sure 
enough!  Well,  Larry,  you  light  the  lamps,  and 
we'll  make  The  Lilacs  two-forty.  I'll  wait  at  the 
side  gate;  and  don't  you  say  anything  about  my 
being  there.  I  couldn't  go  in.  Just  ask  for  Miss 
Unger  and  hand  her  the  purse." 

"Me,  sir?"  asked  Larry.  "  Me  take  it  to  the 
Princess?" 

"  Yes.  We  won't  let  her  stay  worried  a  second 
longer  than  we  can  help.  Here — put  the  purse  in 
to  your  pocket  again.  Miss  Unger  has  offered  a 
reward,  Larry,  but  I'll  give  you  the  hundred  my- 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  175 

self.  I'd  rather.  Are  we  ready?  Good!"  The  car 
went  forward  at  a  bound. 

"  Bless  you,  sir,  I  don't  want  no  reward,"  the 
man  answered.  "  Why,  it's  reward  enough  just  to 
have  her  talk  to  me,  sir,  for  ten  minutes,  maybe,  and 
thank  me,  and — and  smile.  Many's  the  time  I've 
looked  at  her,  sir,  like  I'd  look  at  a  beautiful  star, 
and  I've  said  to  myself,  'I'd  like  to  have  a  missis 
like  her.' " 

"  Oh,  you  would."  The  car  came  to  a  stop  at 
Mrs.  Vander  Laan's  side  gate. 

"  Yes,  sir — you'll  excuse  me,  sir,"  added  Larry 
quickly.  The  gravity  and  thoughtfulness  in  the 
other's  tone  seemed  very  like  reproof.  Then  the 
groom  sprang  down  from  his  seat  and  was  off  to 
ward  the  house  at  a  run. 

He  was  breathless  when  he  reached  the  servants' 
entrance.  But  while  he  waited  he  recovered  his 
breath  instead  of  imparting  his  good  news  to  the 
maid  who  welcomed  him.  Also  (that  same  maid 
remarked  upon  it  afterward),  he  twirled  his  hat 
constantly,  refused  to  sit  down,  and  kept  wetting 
his  lips  as  if  he  were  nervous.  Then — he  was  in  the 
old-fashioned,  dimly-lighted  drawing-room,  his  hat 
revolving  steadily  and  his  tongue  cloven  to  the  roof 
of  his  mouth. 

She  came  presently,  sweeping  through  a  door  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  long,  high  room.  She  was 
in  pink — a  cloudy  pink  that  set  off  her  loveliness 
marvelously.  And  as  she  advanced  toward  him 
Larry  forgot  to  do  anything  but  look. 

"  You  wish  to  see  me?  '  she  asked. 

"  Y-Yes,  Miss.    You  lost  a  purse  this  mornin'." 

"  Yes." 


176  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"I  found  it,  Miss." 

She  gave  a  cry  of  delight.  "  You  found  it !  Oh, 
I'm  50  glad!" 

Larry  hung  his  hat  between  his  knees,  despite 
the  fact  that  these  were  trembling.  Then  he  held 
out  a  coat-lapel  with  one  hand  and  reached  into  an 
inner  pocket  with  the  other.  "  Here,  Miss,"  he  said 
proudly,  and  laid  the  purse  upon  the  table  be 
side  which  she  stood;  after  that  he  recovered  his 
hat. 

She  caught  the  purse  up  with  another  little  cry 
— an  inarticulate  cry.  Then  she  turned  and  walked 
swiftly  to  the  yellow-shaded  candelabrum  on  a  sec 
ond  table  at  the  farther  end  of  the  long  room.  Here 
she  opened  the  purse,  leaning  down  with  her  back 
toward  him. 

It  was  fully  a  minute  before  she  straightened  and 
turned  and  came  toward  him  once  more,  slowly,  the 
bills  in  her  hand.  As  she  paused  near  him,  some 
thing — a  change  in  her  carriage  or  her  look — made 
him  retreat  a  step. 

"Where  did  you  find  it?"  she  asked  brusquely. 

"  Not  ten  feet  from  where  the  wagon  stood,  Miss. 
It  must  'a'  fell  in  turninV 

She  was  silent  a  moment.  Then,  "  So  you  knew 
where  the  wagon  stood,"  she  commented.  There 
was  no  attempt  to  hide  the  meaning  in  her  voice. 

"  I — I  seen  where  you  was,"  stammered  Larry, 
shifting  froom  one  foot  to  the  other. 

"  Indeed!    You  were  present  at  the  game,  then?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss.  After  the  ladies  and  gents  went  I 
goes  across  to  that  side — ridin'.  There  she  laid, 
big  as  life." 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  177 

"  I  see."  She  walked  to  and  fro  a  few  steps. 
After  a,  little  she  paused  in  her  walk  and  spoke 
again:  "You  know  of  the  reward,  I  suppose?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Miss,  but " 

She  interrupted  him.  Her  eyes  were  angry,  her 
slender  figure  was  rigid,  as  if  with  some  sudden 
resolution.  "Why  did  you  wait  until  now?"  she 
demanded.  "  It's  after  seven  o'clock.  You  knew 
it  was  mine." 

"  When  Jim  told  me  about  the  advertisement  I 
did,  Miss,  and  I  says  to  myself,  '  Wasn't  you  a 
crazy  not  to  guess  whose  it  was?  '  I  says.  But,  you 
see,  I  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  field  most  of  the 
time." 

"  Most  of  the  time,"  she  repeated,  a  little  sneer- 
ingly .  "  Were  you  near  the  wagon  at  all  ?  " 

Her  reference  was  plain.  He  rubbed  at  his  chin 
with  the  back  of  a  shaking  hand.  "  Well,  I — I  held 
Miss  Townsend's  team  a  bit,"  he  admitted  huskily. 

"  Oh,  you  did ! "  There  was  a  triumphant  ring 
in  her  voice.  "  Then  I  think  you  have  impudence 
to  dare  to  come  to  me.  If  you  didn't  take  the 
purse » 

"No!" 

"  — You  picked  it  up  knowing  it  belonged  to  me. 
And  you  held  it  until  I  offered  a  reward,  instead 
of  coming  straight  here  to  give  it  back.  What  is 
the  difference  between  that  and  theft?  " 

He  made  no  reply,  only  stood,  his  back  against 
the  door,  and  stared  at  her. 

"  I  shall  not  pay  you  the  reward,"  she  went  on. 
"  I  found  out  something  about  you  when  you  first 
came  in.  I  counted  the  money  there  at  that  table  " 


178  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

— she  pointed  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. — "  and 
there  weren't  seven  bills  in  the  purse.  Look!"  she 
held  six  out  to  him. 

His  jaw  set.  He  stood  upon  both  feet,  bringing 
heel  to  heel,  his  arms  at  his  side. 

She  flung  up  one  hand.  "  Don't  deny  it ! "  she 
cried.  "  I  gave  you  a  chance  a  moment  ago  to  say 
that  you'd  helped  yourself  to  the  reward.  You  kept 
still.  One  hundred  wasn't  enough.  You  wanted 
two — for  hanging  about  and  pilfering."  She 
stopped,  panting  with  excitement.  Presently  she 
continued,  crumpling  the  bills  in  her  fingers :  "  You 
thought  because  I'm  a  woman  that  I  wouldn't  count 
the  money.  You  thought  you  could  take  advantage. 
I  ought  to  put  you  under  arrest." 

To  that  he  said  nothing. 

"  But  I  won't — I  don't  want  the  notoriety.  I've 
got  the  purse  back  and  all  the  money  I  expected. 
But  who  are  you?  You  sha'n't  leave  this  room  till 
you  tell  me  that." 

"  As  long  as  you  think  the  way  you  do,  it  don't 
matter  who  I  am." 

"  Ah !  So  you  daren't  tell  your  name !  But  I 
know  your  face — now  that  I've  looked  at  you  well. 
And  I'd  know  you  again  anywhere.  You're  em 
ployed  about  here.  You're  a  groom." 

"  Yes,  I'm  a  groom,"  he  answered ;  "  I'm  Mr. 
Philip  Rawson's  man." 

Now  there  was  a  long  silence.  He  rested  his 
weight  on  one  foot  again,  and  folded  his  arms,  with 
his  hat  under  one  of  them.  He  was  pale,  and  met 
her  look  with  resentful  calm.  She  stood,  swaying 
a  little  and  swallowing. 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  179 

"  So  you  work  for  Mr.  Rawson  ?  "  she  said  fin 
ally,  her  voice  uneven.  "  He's  a  friend,  and  I  don't 
intend  that  any  friend  of  mine  shall  keep  a  man  like 
you  in  his  employ.  I  shall  see  him  about  you.  That 
is  all.  You  may  go." 

The  young  master  of  Hillcrest  was  out  of  his 
machine  and  pacing  the  walk  impatiently  when 
Larry  came  into  sight,  and  he  advanced  a  few  steps 
to  meet  the  man,  scarcely  able  to  restrain  his  eager 
ness.  "  Well,  Larry,"  he  began,  "  was  the  Princess 
made  happy  ?  " 

Larry  did  not  reply  at  once.  But  as  he  paused 
in  the  light  of  the  automobile  lamps  his  face  looked 
a  deathly  white,  and  his  red  hair  seemed  to  be  stand 
ing  out  straight  and  stiff,  like  bristles. 

"Larry!" 

"  She  ain't  no  princess !  "  said  the  man.  "  And 
I  don't  think  her  beautiful  no  more.  If  you  could 
a-seen  her,  sir, — why,  she  crumpled  up,  her  face  did, 
like  the  money  in  her  fingers.  She  was  afraid  I'd 
want  that  hunderd,  you  see.  So  I  hadn't  been  in 
the  room  two  minutes  before  she'd  slipped  a  bill  and 
then  called  me  a  thief." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  man !  " 

"A  thief! — as  if  I'd  chance  bein'  let  out  by  you, 
sir,  for  the  sake  of  a  hunderd  dollars !  I  knowed 
that  minute  how  I'd  been  mistaken  in  her — terrible. 
She  ain't  no  thoroughbred,  sir.  There's  Miss  Town- 
send — fifteen  hands  and  ev'ry  inch  a  lady — would 
she  a-done  me  like  that?  This  is  bold  talk,  and 
you'll  feel  like  kickin'  me  from  here  to  Brampton. 
But  I'm  thinkin'  too  much  of  you  to  pick  words — 
I'm  thinkin'  so  much  of  you  I'd  hate  to  see  you 


180  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

marry  her.  And,  now,  I've  got  you  down  on  me, 
sir.  She'll  tell  you  I  lied  for  spite  because  I  didn't 
get  the  money.  It  ain't  spite — nothin'  like  it,  sir. 
But  you  won't  believe  me  against  her — I  know  that. 
And  it  means  I'll  have  to  leave  Hillcrest.  Well,  I'll 
go,  sir, — I'll  go.  I  couldn't  work  for  her,  anyhow, 
you  see,  sir.  So — good — good-bye,  sir." 

It  was  a  week  later  before  Sue  heard  the  story  of 
Larry  and  the  seven  one-hundred-dollar  bills.  Then 
Phil  told  it  to  her — one  afternoon  when  he  came  to 
join  her  in  a  horseback  ride.  After  he  had  told  it 
(they  were  in  the  library  at  Arbor  Lodge),  he 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  his  crop  across  his  knees, 
and  studied  her  face. 

Sue  looked  troubled.  "  Oh,  I  think  there  must 
be  some  dreadful  mistake  about  the  whole  thing," 
she  said.  "  I  don't  mean  that  Larry  isn't  honest — 
I  think  he  is.  He's  got  a  nice  face,  and  I  simply 
couldn't  lose  faith  in  a  red-headed  person." 

Phil  smiled.  "  And  you  simply  couldn't  say  any 
thing  against  anybody,"  said  he ;  "I  know  that. 
But  this  involves  theft,  Sue." 

Sue  looked  more  troubled  than  ever.  "We'll  all 
steal  if  we're  sufficiently  tempted,"  she  declared. 
"Isn't  that  so?  You  or  I  wouldn't  steal  money. 
That's  because  we  don't  need  it." 

"  Larry  was  entitled  to  the  reward ;  but  he  didn't 
have  the  slightest  idea  of  accepting  one  cent.  What 
he  did  expect  was — Gad!  what  a  backhander!" 

"  But,  Phil,"  she  said,  "  you  mustn't  let  the  word 
of  a  groom  make  any  difference  between  you  and 
Genevieve." 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  181 

"I  won't." 

"  Genevieve  wouldn't  be  so  tricky,  Phil." 

Phil  said  nothing. 

"  She  must  have  thought  Larry  guilty  if  she  was 
so  severe  with  him,"  persisted  Sue.  "  She's  so  just. 
And  generosity  itself." 

Phil  looked  at  his  boots. 

"  My  servants  adore  her." 

Phil  examined  the  end  of  his  crop. 

"  Give  her  a  chance  to  explain,  Phil,  at  the  Carl- 
tons'  to-night." 

"  I'm  not  going.     Are  you  ?  " 

"  No.  I've  planned  an  early  canter  for  to-mor 
row." 

He  leaned  forward.     "  Am  I  included?  "  he  asked. 

She  regarded  him  critically,  and  reflected  that  he 
looked  pale.  "  Would  you  like  to  go — this  after 
noon  and  to-morrow,  too  ?  " 

"  I'd  like  to  go,"  he  declared.  "  There's  Wheaton 
Hill,  too;  we  haven't  been  there  yet.  And  those 
oollies  of  Bob's — if  we  don't  watch  out  they'll  be 
grown  dogs  before  we  see  'em." 

She  hesitated  a  little.  Then,  "I  wouldn't  care 
to  have  Genevieve  think,"  she  began,  "  that  I'd 
stayed  away  from  the  Carltons',  and  that  you  stayed 
away,  too,  and  that  we " 

"May  I  come?  "  he  persisted,  and  rose. 

Again  she  looked  at  him  critically.  His  manner 
was  not  cheerless — yet  what  pain  might  not  be  hid 
den  by  bravado?  "Yes,  come,"  she  said. 

Looking  down  at  her,  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
full  of  pity  and  sympathy  and  tender  appeal — yes, 
and  tears.  He  came  to  stand  in  front  of  her.  "  Do 


182  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

you  know,"  he  said,  "  I  think  Genevieve  is  an  epi 
demic.  We've  all  had  it,  by  Jove,  just  as  if  it  were 
contagious.  But,  luckily,  it's  not  incurable." 

"Let's  not  criticise  her,  Phil." 

He  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  "  You've  got  the 
disease  worse  than  anybody,"  he  declared.  He  swept 
one  arm  about  the  room,  pointing — to  the  picture 
of  Genevieve  on  the  mantle ;  to  the  two  pictures  of 
Genevieve  on  the  writing-desk;  to  the  panel  between 
the  two  bookcases,  where  Genevieve  was  feeding  the 
fawn.  "  One,  two,  three,  four,"  he  counted.  Then 
he  looked  at  the  round  gold  locket  hanging  between 
the  lapels  of  her  coat.  "  And  I'll  bet  a  pony  that 
there's  a  picture  of  Genevieve  in  that  locket,"  he 
added. 

She  blushed,  hastily  hid  the  locket  in  the  palm 
of  a  hand,  and  stood  up.  "The  brown  pony?" 
she  said. 

"  Books,  gloves,  cigars,  ties,"  enumerated  Phil, 
"  I  don't  care  what  you  bet.  Come !  " 

"  I  like  that  brown  pony.     But — I  shan't  bet." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  I'm  betting  about  something  that  I 
know  about,  and  you're  betting  about  something 
that  you  don't  know  about.  It  would  be  taking  ad 
vantage  of  you." 

"  Is  it  that,  or  is  it  that  you  don't  want  to  admit 
that  you've  got  the  Genevieve  epidemic?" 

Two  spots  of  scarlet  brightened  her  cheeks.  "  I'll 
wager  a  box  of  gloves  with  you  against  the  pony 
that  Genevieve's  picture  isn't  in  this  locket;  but  on 
one  condition :  Grandmamma  must  look  at  the  locket 
and  tell  you  Yes  or  No." 


The  Genevieve  Epidemic  183 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  won't  agree  to  that.  I've 
got  to  look  at  it  myself." 

Sue  also  shook  her  head.  "  The  bet  is  off,"  she 
said.  "  Sorry." 

"  Oh,  come  on !  "  he  entreated.  "  I'll  never  throw 
it  up  to  you — honest." 

Sue  moved  away  to  the  hearth.  "  No,"  she  said 
decidedly. 

He  followed  her,  laughing,  and  pried  open  her 
fingers.  She  seized  the  chain  and  pulled  back.  He 
held  on  to  the  locket  and  stood  his  ground.  The 
next  moment  the  chain  broke  and  slipped  through 
Sue's  fingers,  and  the  locket  was  in  his  hand. 

Sue  sprang  forward  and  tried  to  regain  it.  "  Oh, 
Phil,  don't  look ! "  she  pleaded.  "  Please,  Phil, 
please.  You " 

But  he  had  fled  to  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
pressed  the  locket-spring,  looked,  caught  his  breath, 
stared  at  her  in  amazement,  backed  a  step 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  trembling  fingers. 
"  Oh,  Phil ! "  she  whispered  tearfully ;  "  Oh,  Phil !  " 

He  ran  to  her  then  and  caught  her  to  him. 
"  Sue !  "  he  cried  tenderly.  "  My  girl !  How  could 
you  keep  it  there — when  I've  been  such  a  fool !  But 
this  whole  thing  has  taught  me  what  your  dear  com 
radeship  means  to  me,  and  just  how  much  I  love 
you."  And  he  drew  her  trembling  hands  away  while 
he  kissed  her. 

She  clung  to  him,  crying,  and  hid  her  face ;  then 
smiled  up  at  him  through  swimming  eyes,  and  drew 
his  face  down  to  hers. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it,  Sue?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  remember  the  party  your  mother  gave  for 


184  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

your  sixteenth  birthday  ?  "  she  whispered.  "  Well, 
that  night  this  was  in  her  dressing-room.  And — • 
and — you  know  I  said  either  one  of  us  would  do 
if  we  were  tempted  just  right — Phil,  I — I  stole  it!  " 
Opening  his  eyes  in  mock  displeasure,  Phil  held 
her  at  arm's  length  for  a  moment.  Then  very 
solemnly,  he  led  her  to  a  window.  "  You  stole  it?  " 
he  said ;  "  you — fifteen  hands  and  every  inch  a  lady  ? 
Well,  let  me  warn  you  never,  never  to  let  that  man 
know ! "  And  he  pointed  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
terrace  where,  waiting,  with  one  hand  at  the  bit  of 
a  grey  pony,  and  the  other  at  the  bit  of  a  brown, 
stood  a  red-haired,  red-cheeked  groom. 


AGATHA'S   ESCORT 

A  FLUFF  of  brown  hair  through  which  ran 
unexpected  glints  of  yellow;  unforgettable 
violet-blue  eyes,  curtained  by  black  lashes 
that  were  long  and  upcurling;  a  straight 
nose  of  a  much-approved  size,  with  delicately  thin 
nostrils;  a  small,  very  red,  and _ somewhat  pouty 
mouth;  a  determined  chin;  rounded  cheeks  just 
brushed  by  scarlet  and  punctuated  by  a  pair  of  busy 
and  bewitching  dimples ;  a  slender  throat ;  a  svelte, 
girlish  figure  in  a  smart,  linen  trotteur;  the  very 
newest — and  tiniest — thing  in  sensibly  stout  tan 
walking-boots ;  and,  lastly,  to  top  the  rest,  an  ir 
resistible  millinery  confection  in  tones  of  buff  and 
crocus,  with  feathers  to  dance  against  the  fluff  of 
hair  below — all  this  was  Agatha  Kerr,  beautiful, 
adorable,  spoiled  Agatha  Kerr. 

At  the  moment,  she  was  seated  in  a  high-backed 
chair  in  the  inner  law-office  of  Avery  &  Avery.  Her 
face  was  flushed  with  annoyance,  and  she  was  pok 
ing  viciously  at  her  boots  with  the  point  of  her  par 
asol.  "A  woman  of  twenty-two,"  she  burst  forth 
presently,  with  a  resentful  toss  of  her  head,  "  a  col 
lege  graduate,  should  certainly  be  able  to  go  out 
of  the  house  by  herself." 

Close  beside  her  sat  her  aunt,  a  lady  whose  chin 
was  quite  as  unyielding  as  her  own.  At  this  point, 

185 


186  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Auntie  rolled  her  eyes  at  Mr.  Avery  and  sniffed 
audibly. 

"  And  conduct  her  chosen  life's  work"  resumed 
Agatha,  striking  a  higher  key,  "without  being  con 
stantly  harassed !  " 

"  You  are  to  be  protected,"  contradicted  her  aunt, 
crisply  serene.  "  Mr.  Avery,  this  child  is  studying 
— er,  what  do  you  call  it,  Agatha?  " 

"  Sociology,"  again  attacking  her  boots. 

Mr.  Avery  looked  incredulous.  A  young  woman 
whose  thoughts  turned  to  philosophy  should  be  a 
homely  and  angular  female  with  large  feet,  a  thinned 
coiffure,  no  waist-line,  and  a  general  appearance 
of  having  dressed  overhastily.  But  here 

"  It  is  a  study  that  takes  her  into  places,"  con 
tinued  the  elder  woman,  "  where  a  young  lady  should 
not  be  seen  alone." 

"  Methods  of  study  have  changed,"  said  Mr.  Av 
ery.  "  I  discover  that  in  discussions  with  my 
nephew." 

"  Geoffrey?  "  questioned  Auntie.  "  Isn't  he  up 
at  Columbia?" 

"  No,  he  has  graduated  and  is  here  with  me,  read 
ing  law." 

"  Auntie,"  began  Agatha  pityingly,  "  doesn't  re 
alise  that  a  young  woman  meets  with  far  more 
courteous  treatment  on  the  East  side  than  she  does 
elsewhere  in  town." 

"  I  regret  to  admit,"  said  Auntie  with  polite  heat, 
"  that  to  me  her  sociology,  so  far,  has  seemed  noth 
ing  but — but " 

"  Say  it !     Say  it !  "  cried  Agatha. 

"  Well,  then,  madcap  gadding." 


'Agatha's  Escort  187 

Agatha  rippled  out  a  laugh.  "  Auntie  doesn't 
understand.  I  am  working  on  a  thesis  for  my  mas 
ter's  degree — '  The  Influence  of  Alien  Immigration 
upon  the  Metropolitan  Body  Politic." 

Mr.  Avery  nodded.  "  My  dear  Miss  Connaugh- 
ton  "  (Auntie  was  Miss  Connaughton),  "what  have 
I  to  do  with  Miss  Agatha's  thesis  ?  " 

"  A  suitable  person,"  answered  Miss  Connaugh 
ton,  "  a  gentleman,  of  course — for  no  woman,  how 
ever  quick  on  her  feet,  could  ever  keep  up  with 
Agatha — must  be  found  who  will  act  as  her  es 
cort." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mr.  Avery,  smiling.  "  A  gentleman 
in  waiting  for  the  princess !  " 

Agatha's  lip  curled.  "  Oh,  no,"  returned  she 
ironically ;  "  an  attendant  for  the  lunatic." 

This  Miss  Connaughton  ignored.  "  I  came  to 
you,  Mr.  Avery,"  she  said,  "hoping  you  could  rec 
ommend  some  one." 

Mr.  Avery  pursed  his  lips  thoughtfully. 

"  I  want  an  educated  mind  for  this  particular 
duty,"  added  Miss  Connaughton,  with  meaning. 

Agatha  rippled  another  laugh.  "  Auntie  wants 
a  nice,  little  tattletale  to  listen  and  report — a  sort 
of  afternoon-tea  Pinkerton." 

"  I  still  insist,"  declared  Miss  Connaughton. 

Agatha's  wrath  blazed  up  anew.  "  Very  well," 
she  said  decisively.  "  If  I  must  have  some  one  tag 
ging  at  my  heels  night  and  day,  night  and  day  " 
(jab,  jab),  "the  only  escort  I  shall  accept  will  be 
deaf  and  dumb'." 

Miss  Connaughton  threw  up  her  hands.  So  did 
Mr.  Avery :  he  clapped  one  over  his  mouth. 


188  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"Deaf  and  dumb!"  gasped  Miss  Connaughton 
weakly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Agatha  triumphantly.  "  On  that 
condition,  I'll  agree." 

Mr.  Avery,  now  unable  wholly  to  contain  himself, 
indulged  in  a  broad  grin.  "  The  idea  isn't  half  bad," 
he  said. 

"  Thank  you,"  from  Agatha. 

Miss  Connaughton  returned  to  the  contest.  "  But 
the  newspapers  would  surely  get  it!  "  she  wailed,  sud 
denly  aware  of  the  dramatics  of  the  situation. 

Agatha  put  out  one  small,  gloved  hand  toward 
her  kinswoman.  "  My  aunt,"  said  she,  "  lives  in 
daily  horror  of  having  the  proud  name  of  Connaugh 
ton  dragged  into  the  vulgar  press.  Well,  I  can 
just  see  the  headlines :  '  Miss  Connaughton's  Ward 
Has  Softening  of  the  Brain ! '  Oh,  it  will  be  the 
limit!" 

"  Agatha!  "  groaned  Miss  Connaughton. 

Mr.  Avery  interrupted  hastily.  "  The  sugges 
tion  as  to  a  deaf-and-dumb  attendant,"  he  began, 
coughing  professionally,  "  is  I  think,  an  excellent 
one.  Such  a  person  would  fulfil  your  requirements, 
madam."  This  to  Miss  Connanghton,  who  had  sunk 
back,  chin  on  breast,  in  what  was  almost  a  state  of 
collapse.  Then,  to  Agatha,  "  May  I  ask  if  there 
are  other  specifications  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,"  drawled  she  teasingly,  a  roguish 
twinkle  in  those  violet-blue  eyes,  "  he  must  be  good 
looking  "  (Miss  Connaughton's  brow  clouded)  "  and 
smart  in  appearance.  Why,"  with  an  experienced 
air,  "  there  isn't  any  part  of  New  York  so  quick  to 
note  the  difference  between  real  and  sham  people  as 


Agatha's  Escort  189 

the  East  Side,  and  the  children  have  a  most  embar 
rassing  way  of  throwing  valuless  etceteras." 

Mr.  Avery  picked  up  a  pencil.  "  Deaf  and  dumb, 
good  looking,  young,  smartly  dressed,"  he  enumer 
ated.  "Anything  else?" 

"  Let — me — see,"  pondered  Agatha.  After  a 
moment,  "  I  think  I  shan't  bother  to  stipulate  the 
colour  of  his  eyes  and  hair." 

"  Huh !  "  observed  Auntie. 

"  I  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  finding  a  person 
very  soon  who  will  fit  these  requirements,"  said  Mr. 
Avery  briskly. 

Agatha  rose,  gave  him  a  dainty  curtsy,  and  ap 
proached  the  door.  It  was  just  at  this  point  that 
she  got  a  bad  start.  Miss  Connaughton  was  beside 
Mr.  Avery's  desk  imparting  something  in  confidence. 
Agatha,  twirling  her  parasol  and  proudly  ignoring 
her  aunt's  whispering,  dropped  into  a  chair  and 
was  making  a  leisurely  survey  of  the  room, 
when • 

She  had  not  particularly  noticed,  before  this,  the 
long,  high  reference  table  that  occupied  one  whole 
side  of  the  office  and  was  piled  with  books.  Under 
it  now,  against  the  claw-feet  of  a  revolving  chair, 
she  spied  something — a  pair  of  neat,  brown  half- 
shoes  !  Above  these  were  a  few  squares  inches  of 
hosiery — plaid  hosiery.  There  was  a  man  behind 
that  table! 

It  was  the  plaid  that  caught  Agatha's  eye:  it 
was  so  absolutely  out  of  the  ordinary,  and,  in  fact, 
noisy — broad  blue  and  green  stripes  at  right  angles 
across  a  drab  ground.  It  betokened  importation. 
"  And  from  France,"  concluded  Agatha  shrewdly ; 


190  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

for  on  the  drab  ground,  between  the  stripes,  were 
cunningly  worked  French  knots. 

There  was  another  member  of  the  firm  of  Avery 
&  Avery — Mr.  Avery,  Jr.  Perhaps  this  was  he — 
eavesdropping.  But,  no;  he  was  a  gentleman  with 
a  grown  son.  The  plaid-hosiery  person  was  a  young 
clerk  with  loud  taste,  and  he  was  really  not  worth  a 
second  thought.  "  Come,  Auntie,  please,"  said 
Agatha,  with  all  the  dignity  she  could  command. 
Then  she  swept  out. 

It  was  quite  wonderful  how  promptly  Mr.  Avery, 
Sr.,  disposed  of  the  matter  of  the  escort.  The  very 
next  day  Agatha  was  informed  that  the  attorney 
wished  to  speak  with  her  over  the  telephone,  and  no 
sooner  had  she  popped  the  receiver  to  her  pink  ear 
than  a  man's  voice  hailed  her  with  a  brisk  "  Good- 
morning  "  that  bespoke  success.  And  how  nice  and 
deep  his  voice  was  over  the  wire!  Why,  not  at  all 
like  his  usual,  every-day  voice! 

"  Good-morning,"  returned  Agatha.  "  I  hope 
you've  found  some  one.  I  wanted  to  attend  a  meet 
ing  of  the  Cigarette  Makers  to-day.  But "  (a  lit 
tle  sulkily)  "  the  moment  I  mentioned  it  Auntie  de 
veloped  a  case  of  ocular  neuralgia." 

There  came  back  a  hearty  laugh,  then,  "  Oh,  say, 
Miss  Agatha,  I  can  settle  that  neuralgia." 

"You  mean  you've  found  him?"  asked  Agatha; 
"  so  soon?  " 

"  He's  a  fellow  that  I  know  very  intimately — bet 
ter  than  anybody  else.  Known  him  for  twenty-five 
years." 

"Oh,  how  old  is  he?" 

"  Just  twenty-five.  I've  known  him  since  he  was 
a  baby." 


Agatha's  Escort  191 

"Is  he  deaf  and  dumb?" 

"  He  won't  listen,  and  he  won't  gossip,"  declared 
Mr.  Avery. 

"Graduate  of  an  institution?" 

"  Yes." 

"But,"  objected  Agatha,  "uniforms  are  so  con 
spicuous." 

"  He  doesn't  wear  one,"  answered  Mr.  Avery. 

"  Does  he  talk  on  his  fingers  ?  "  asked  Agatha. 

"  Yes ;  but  if  he  bothers  you  (because  he's  an  ab 
sent-minded  fellow  anyhow),  why,  you  just  tell  him 
to  muffle  his  hands  in  his  pockets." 

Agatha  sent  one  of  her  gay  ripples  over  the  wire. 
"  But  I  can't  read  finger-talk,"  she  protested. 

"  I've  presented  him  with  a  pad  and  pencil.  If 
he  wants  to  scribble  too  much  just  give  him  the  poc 
ket-sign.  Oh,  don't  say  you  won't  take  him," 
pleaded  Mr.  Avery. 

Agatha  covered  the  transmitter  with  one  hand  for 
a  moment.  How — er — feelingly  he  said  everything 
this  morning!  He  didn't  at  all  sound  like  himself. 

"  When  he  comes,"  continued  Mr.  Avery,  "  don't 
forget  to  smile  at  him.  The  kinder  you  are  the 
happier  it'll  make  him." 

"  I  won't.     The  poor  fellow !  " 

"  Ah,  Miss  Agatha,  he  is  a  '  poor  fellow.'  So 
keep  him  with  you  just  as  much  as  you  can.  Have 
him  show  up  before  breakfast,  and  work  him  all  day. 
He's  an  accommodating  duck.  He  wants  to  come 
right  up." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Agatha.     "  Good-bye." 

Half  an  hour  later  Miss  Connaughton  and  her 
niece  met  the  escort  in  the  library.  For  the  elder 
lady  it  was  a  moment  rich  with  satisfaction.  By 


192  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

now  she  had  forgotten  any  concessions  in  Agatha's 
favour,  and  felt  that  she  had  brought  that  wilful 
young  person  to  terms.  As  for  the  tall,  good-look 
ing,  well-dressed  young  man  who  awaited  their  en 
trance,  he  was  plainly  discomfited.  For  he  was 
red. 

"  It  is  gratifying,"  said  Miss  Connaughton,  ad 
dressing  him,  "  to  know  that  my  niece  is  to  have 
your  companionship  and  protection  on  her  scholastic 
pilgrimages." 

Agatha  bowed  prettily.  Then  she  remembered 
Mr.  Avery's  advice.  She  smiled  up  at  the  young 
man.  He  took  her  hand  and  bent  over  it,  looking 
down  at  her  intently — perhaps  rather  too  intently 
4 — and  retaining  her  fingers  a  second  too  long. 

"  Auntie,"  reminded  Agatha,  "  he  didn't  hear  a 
single  word  you  said." 

The  next  moment  the  escort  drew  forth  a  long, 
pink-covered  pad  to  which  was  hung  a  lead-pencil 
patriotically  wound  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  Upon 
the  first  clean,  white  page  of  the  pad  he  wrote  these 
words,  "  I  understood  something  of  your  cordial 
greeting,  madam,  because  I  read  the  lips." 

Agatha  stared  at  the  sentence  over  Miss  Con- 
naught  on 's  shoulder.  Then  a  swift  flush  of  annoy 
ance  dyed  that  particular  rounding  of  her  cheeks 
where  her  dimples  were.  He  could  read  the  lips ! 
She  felt  herself  tricked.  And  it  was  on  the  tip  of 
her  tongue  to  say,  "  Auntie,  is  this  your  work?  "  or 
something  equally  severe,  when  she  had  an  inspira 
tion.  Up  came  the  dainty  square  of  her  handker 
chief,  to  swing  as  a  guard  by  a  thumb  and  a  fore 
finger. 

"  His  reading  the  lips,"  she  said  with  airy  indif- 


Agatha's  Escort  193 

ference,  "  doesn't  matter  in  the  least.  I  have  only 
to  do  this."  Which  announcement  was  calculated 
to  take  the  starch  out  of  any  fell  designs  of  Auntie's 
— if  she  had  them. 

"  But,  Agatha,"  cried  Miss  Connaughton,  seized 
by  a  terrifying  thought,  "  if  the  man  is  deaf,  how 
is  he  going  to  protect  you  from  the  surface  cars  ?  " 

A  succession  of  spasms  crossed  the  face  of  the 
escort;  his  lips  moved  spasmodically.  Then  he  be 
gan  to  write.  When  he  had  finished,  he  offered  Miss 
Connaughton  the  pad.  Upon  it  was :  "  Madam,  I 
guessed  rather  than  read  your  concern.  Let  me 
assure  you  that  when  cars  approach  me  I  feel  the 
jar." 

Auntie  sank  back,  somewhat  eased  in  her  mind, 
but  Agatha  read  the  words  with  staring  eyes.  Then 
up  came  the  handkerchief  again. 

"  Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "  he's  a  regular  professor 
of  lip-reading!  " 

"  Perhaps  it's  just  as  well  that  he  can  read  the 
lips,"  said  Miss  Connaughton.  "  An  exigency 
might  arise,  dear."  She  leaned  forward  and  touched 
the  young  man's  arm.  "What — is — your — 
name  ?  "  she  asked,  articulating  with  exaggerated 
precision. 

"  If  he  understands,  he's  as  bad  as  a  man  that 
can  hear,"  put  in  Agatha,  from  behind  her  hand 
kerchief.  "  And  I  won't  have  him." 

But  the  escort  was  looking  from  aunt  to  niece  in 
a  puzzled  fashion.  Finally  he  shook  his  head. 

"  Your — name,"  repeated  Miss  Connaughton. 

Now  sudden  comprehension  illumined  his  whole 
face.  With  an  eager  nod  he  seized  the  pencil  and 
wrote,  "  In  Yonkers." 


194  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"You  see?"  said  Miss  Connaughton.  "He 
doesn't  always  understand."  She  graciously  wrote 
the  question. 

Again  his  face  lit  up,  and  he  looked  a  smiling 
apology.  Then  he  hastily  scribbled,  "  John  Mc- 
Vicar." 

"  Agatha,"  said  Miss  Connaughton,  "  he's  a  little 
too — er — actory-looldng,  according  to  my  idea.  But, 
being  deaf  and  dumb,  he  will  never  presume " 

"  Put  up  your  handkerchief,"  warned  Agatha,  col 
ouring. 

Just  then  the  young  man  produced  his  own  hand 
kerchief,  and  began  to  cough  violently  into  it.  (It 
was  a  smart  affair  with  a  blue-dotted  border.) 

"  Don't  cut  me  off  in  the  middle  that  way,"  said 
Miss  Connaughton  petulantly.  "  There  is  danger, 
Agatha,  in  bringing  a  strange  young  man  into  such 
close  association  with  you.  Have  I  ever  seen  any 
young  man  spend  two  hours  in  your  company  with 
out " 

"  Boo ! "  said  Agatha,  her  dimples  playing 
again. 

"  But,"  said  Miss  Connaughton,  "  I  shall  engage 
him."  So  thoroughly  satisfied  was  she  with  the 
whole  outcome  of  the  matter  that  she  even  omitted 
to  call  up  Mr.  Avery  to  thank  him. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  Agatha  and  the  escort 
were  proceeding  down  Fifth  Avenue.  It  was  a  walk 
Agatha  always  took  when  opportunity  afforded. 
She  liked  the  shops ;  ske  liked  the  moving  lines  of 
vehicles ;  she  liked  the  swarming  humans. 

Just  before  the  two  reached  Twenty-third  Street, 
the  escort  drew  to  one  side  for  a  moment,  and  wrote 


Agatha's  Escort  195 

something  on  the  pad.  It  was :  "  As  I  do  not  hear, 
I  must  put  you  to  the  annoyance  of  taking  my  arm 
when  we  cross  the  streets." 

"  But,"  Agatha  scribbled  back,  "  I  thought  you 
could  hear  rumbles." 

"  Not  wagon  rumbles." 

Agatha  took  his  arm — and  kept  it.  She  found 
the  going  noticeably  pleasanter.  He  walked  with 
his  chin  in,  his  shoulders  back,  his  look  straight 
ahead.  Every  now  and  then  she  glanced  up  at  him, 
sidewise,  from  under  the  dancing  plumes  of  the  cro 
cus  confection.  After  which  she  always  shook  her 
head  sadly.  "  What  a  pity  he  is  d —  and  d — ,"  she 
said  to  herself.  She  could  not  bear,  somehow,  to 
say  the  whole  words. 

They  were  threading  their  way  slowly  along  Ave 
nue  A  when  the  escort  was  saluted  by  a  friend — 
quite  a  presentable  young  man,  who  gave  Mr.  Mc- 
Vicar  a  resounding  slap  upon  the  shoulder.  (Agatha 
had  been  separated  from  her  escort  by  struggling 
pedestrians.)  "  Hello,  Cub!"  sang  out  the  present 
able  young  man. 

Mr.  McVicar  turned  with  a  start,  glared  for  a 
second,  went  white  and  red  by  incredibly  swift  turns, 
and  then — strode  on. 

"I  say,  Cub!"  persisted  the  other.  "  Cub! 
Where  you  steering?  " 

The  escort  now  halted  abruptly,  excused  himself 
to  Agatha  by  a  bow,  led  the  young  man  away  a  few 
steps,  produced  the  pad  and  pencil,  and  inscribed 
a  line.  Whatever  the  statement  was,  the  young 
man  met  it  with  relish  and  composure.  He  had, 
by  now,  caught  sight  of  Agatha.  So  he  removed 


196  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

his  hat  and  swept  the  air  with  it.  Then,  grinning, 
he  pulled  off  a  glove  and  made  a  few,  swift  finger- 
signs. 

He  must  have  signalled  something  rude,  for  as 
Mr.  Me  Vicar  wheeled  abruptly  and  joined  Agatha, 
his  expression  was  furious.  And  presently,  having 
torn  away  a  leaf  of  the  pad,  he  wrote :  "  Morrison 
is  a  rank  idiot.  Known  me  a  long  time,  but  always 
forgets  my  infirmity." 

Infirmity!  Agatha,  as  she  tripped  along,  saw 
buildings  and  people  suddenly  reel  and  blur — 
through  a  mist  of  tears.  His  society  had  been 
thrust  upon  her:  she  had  rebelled  at  it.  Yet  hers 
was  a  tender  little  heart,  and  that  tender  little  heart 
ached  to  think  how  frankly  he  referred  to  what 
would  have  been  worse  than  death  to  most  men.  Ah ! 
that  was  the  kind  of  bravery  she  liked!  (They  had 
come  to  a  crossing  where  the  pavement  was  torn  up. 
She  took  his  arm  again.) 

She  resolved  not  to  make  his  first  day  a  difficult 
one,  so  she  hailed  a  cross-town  car  that  would  carry 
them  near  to  Macdougal  Alley.  She  had  promised 
to  see  a  certain  painting  in  one  of  the  studios  there. 
When  they  had  seen  it  Agatha  was  thirsty.  They 
sought  a  drug-store  and  had,  each,  a  glass  of  sticky 
lemon-soda.  Next,  Agatha  was  tired.  They  made 
toward  the  nearest  square  and  sat  down. 

It  was  one  of  those  late  summer  days  that  sug 
gest  the  nearing  autumn :  the  sun  was  not  too  warm, 
the  breeze  was  not  too  cool,  and  there  was  a  delicious 
leafy  smell  in  the  air.  Agatha  leaned  back,  and 
dilated  her  nostrils  to  drink  it  all  in. 

Mr.   McVicar,  however,  drove  his   pencil  busily. 


Agatha's  Escort  197 

"  That  picture  you  selected,"  he  wrote  " — you 
thought  the  subject  good?" 

Agatha  looked  at  him  in  grave  astonishment.  "  I 
thought  the  picture  dreadful,"  she  answered,  "  but 
the  artist  needs  money.  It's  the  third  I've 
bought." 

He  gave  a  hearty  laugh.  (She  was  relieved  to 
find  it  clear  and  pleasantly  modulated.)  "  I  thought 
you  were  a  sociological  student.  Do  you  favour  in 
discriminate  charity,  Miss  Agatha?  " 

"  I  am  opposed  to  it,  theoretically,  but  we  can 
not  judge  the  failures  and  condemn  them  and  deny 
them  help  unless  we  first  know  what  has  been  their 
mitt**." 

"  What  a  generous,  womanly  thought ! "  he  com 
mented.  Presently  he  added,  apropos  of  nothing. 
"You  would  be  all  forgiveness."  His  expression 
became  more  grave  than  her  own. 

Agatha  might  have  thought  him  too  personal, 
even  impertinent,  but  there  was  that  level  gaze,  all 
honest  admiration.  Auntie  herself  could  not  have 
taken  umbrage.  Nobody  could  have.  His  eyes 
were  grey — a  very  dark,  expressive  grey.  She 
met  them  steadily  for  a  moment.  Then  her  own 
fell,  and  those  long,  up-curling,  black  lashes  swept 
a  cheek  which  had  grown  suddenly  rosy. 

He  was  writing  again.  "  I  can  understand  al 
most  every  word  you  say  when  your  face  is  near." 

"Really?"  she  asked  him. 

He  had  leaned  toward  her.  "  Really,"  he  an 
swered  on  the  pad. 

So  Agatha  moved  close.  "I — am — so — glad," 
she  said,  articulating  carefully.  Her  eyes  grew 


198  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

moist  with  earnestness.  He  lived  in  a  world  of  si 
lence.  Oh!  the  tragedy  of  it! 

He  looked  his  gratitude.  It  was  strange  how 
perfectly  he  seemed  to  know  what  she  had  said;  for 
he  had  not  watched  her  lips :  he  had  watched  her 
dimples. 

It  was  so  slow  and  difficult  putting  things  down 
that  soon  he  devised  ways  of  conversing  more  read 
ily.  He  formed  swift  letters  in  the  air  with  one 
forefinger,  or  scratched  them  in  the  dirt  with  her 
parasol. 

Five  o'clock  found  them  still  in  the  square. 
Agatha  was  surprised  when  she  discovered  how  late 
it  was.  She  signalled  a  passing  taxicab,  and  they 
were  whirled  home  together. 

"  Aren't  we  going  somewhere  to-night?"  he  asked 
as  they  neared  the  end  of  their  ride. 

She  looked  rueful.  "  I'm— afraid— I— can't," 
she  said.  Her  face  was  lifted.  His  head  was  low 
ered  attentively,  so  that  his  hat-brim  touch  the  fluff 
of  her  hair.  "  I've — promised — to — see — a — play 
— with — Auntie.  But — after — this — I — shan't — 
make — engagements — that — will — conflict — with — 
my  work." 

When  they  entered  the  library  Miss  Connaughton 
had  fresh  tea  brought.  "  I  trust,"  said  she,  "  that 
nothing  unpleasant  happened  to-day." 

Agatha  pondered,  the  tip  of  her  teaspoon  against 
the  tip  of  her  chin.  "  No,"  she  said.  "  Only,  we 
met  a  friend  of  Mr.  McVicar's.  But  he  was  not 
d—  and  d— ." 

"  D —  and  d — !  "  Miss  Connaughton  was  hor 
rified.  "  Hush,  Agatha !  It  sounds  profane," 


Agatha's  Escort  199 

But  Agatha  was  smiling  into  her  cup.  There 
was  a  "  to-morrow's  visitor  "  floating  in  it — a  tall 
visitor.  She  lifted  it  to  the  back  of  one  hand  and 
struck  it  smartly  with  the  back  of  the  other.  It 
transferred  itself.  She  gave  Mr.  McVicar  a  swift 
glance. 

He  was  holding  his  cup  aloft.  Across  its  rim 
his  grey  eyes  were  watching  her. 

She  held  up  the  "  visitor "  triumphantly. 

He  nodded. 

The  following  day  the  "  tall  visitor  "  came  again, 
and  he  and  Agatha  took  their  second  walk  down 
the  avenue.  Agatha  had  on  a  blue  linen.  It  en 
hanced  her  colour  charmingly.  Mr.  McVicar  carried 
her  parasol,  a  new  one  with  a  brass  tip.  She  was 
in  the  best  of  humour,  and  stood  on  her  toes  now 
and  then  while  she  said  something.  He  was  in  the 
best  of  humour,  too.  But  of  a  sudden  his  face  be 
came  very  sober,  even  anxious.  He  began  to  take 
longer  steps. 

Agatha  remarked  his  nervousness.  She  looked 
round.  There  were  three  young  men  close  at  hand 
who  seemed  to  be  observing  Mr.  McVicar.  They 
were  well-groomed  young  men.  "  Collegy,"  was 
Agatha's  verdict. 

Just  then  a  young  man  approached  them,  going 
the  other  way.  He  took  off  his  hat  politely  with 
one  hand;  with  the  fingers  of  the  other  he  signed 
the  escort  an  elaborate  good  day. 

Mr.  McVicar  gave  him  a  cold  stare. 

Scarcely  half  a  block  farther  on,  a  second  young 
man  lifted  his  hat  with  a  bow  and — wiggled  Ms 
fingers ! 


200  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Mr.  McVicar  glared. 

When  a  third  young  man  passed  them,  with  a 
well-bred  smile,  a  bared  head,  and  a  mute  greeting, 
Mr.  McVicar's  face  became  almost  distorted. 
Agatha  heard  him  gurgle. 

Not  a  minute  later,  a  fourth  young  man  advanced 
toward  them,  one  hand  rising  to  his  hat  as  he  came 
on.  Mr.  McVicar,  guiding  Agatha,  abruptly 
stepped  aside  into  a  shop  and  made  a  quick  pur 
chase.  When  they  had  gained  the  street  again  by 
a  side  exit,  he  wrote :  "  I  have  a  headache.  Do  you 
mind  if  I  wear  these?"  "These"  were  coloured 
glasses. 

"  Not — in — the — least,"   she  declared. 

The  morning  was  given  over  to  tenement-house 
inspection,  and  Agatha  was  a  fairy-figure  amid  the 
sordid  gloom  of  it  all.  Mr.  McVicar  kept  beside 
her  (the  inspector  led),  helping  her  up  long,  dark 
stairways,  and  down  into  pit-like  cellars,  and  through 
dank  halls  full  of  poor,  little  gaping  children.  When 
noon  came  they  sought  a  near-by  cafe. 

It  was  while  they  were  here  that  an  extraordinary 
thing  happened.  They  had  gotten  comfortably 
placed,  both  on  the  same  side  of  a  table — so  that  he 
could  understand  what  she  was  saying  (his  glasses 
were  off  now) — when  there  entered,  in  single  file, 
one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven  well-dressed 
young  men.  They  seated  themselves  opposite 
Agatha  and  the  escort.  And,  presently,  after  each 
had  given  the  menu  a  casual  glance,  all  began  to 
talk  at  once — on  their  fingers ! 

Agatha  opened  her  eyes.  "  Everyone  of  them  d — 
and  d — -! "  she  said  to  herself.  "Is  this  a  d —  and 


Agatha's  Escort  201 

d~—  cafe'?  "     Her  eyes  roved  from  waiter  to  waiter. 

But  the  seven  young  men  were  evidently  from  Mr. 
McVicar's  institution,  for  they  caught  sight  of  him 
a  moment  later,  bowed  to  him  in  great  surprise,  and 
began  to  make  him  finger-signs. 

He  bowed  in  return,  but  he  regarded  them  darkly 
and  made  no  return  signs. 

Agatha  reflected  that  there  were  more  d —  and 
d —  people  in  the  world  than  she  had  ever  imagined. 
Presently  she  noticed  that  Mr.  McVicar  was  not 
eating.  "Don't  you  like  the  goulash?"  she  wrote. 

"  I  have  a  headache,"  he  answered. 

"  You  must  go  home,  tlien." 

"But  the  Amalgamated  Shirt-Makers?" 

At  this  juncture  the  seven  young  men  opposite 
got  up  and  filed  slowly  out,  each  working  a  right 
hand  in  what  seemed  to  be  a  friendly  adieu. 

When  Mr.  McVicar  rose  his  lips  were  pressed  to 
gether  as  if  he  were  striving  to  master  himself.  He 
refrained  from  looking  at  Agatha  and  fiddled  with 
his  hat. 

She  saw  how  ill  he  was.  Her  expression  grew 
troubled  and  wistful.  "  A  hansom,"  she  said  to  the 
head  waiter.  But  she  did  not  send  Mr.  McVicar 
home.  She  let  him  drive  to  her  aunt's  with  her. 

On  the  way,  for  some  reason  or  other,  Mr.  Mc 
Vicar  grew  much  brighter.  "  Where  do  we  go  to 
morrow  ?  "  he  asked. 

Agatha  stole  a  glance  toward  him.  "  To-mor 
row,"  she  said,  "  I — shall — devote — to — automorphic 
— deductions — and — to — 'the — correlation — of — 
all — the — new — concrete — examples — I — have — > 
noted." 


202  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Then  you'll  need  me,"  he  declared. 

"  Will — you — be — well — enough  ?  "  asked  Aga 
tha. 

"  Why,  I'm  well  now." 

"Come — then — in — case — I've — forgotten — any — 
of — the — examples ." 

The  following  morning  they  did  not  go  down  the 
avenue,  but  turned  into  Central  Park  at  the  Sher 
man  statue  instead,  and  out  of  it  again  at  the  West 
Seventy-second  Street  entrance.  Then  they  headed 
toward  the  Hudson. 

It  was  a  day  even  more  perfect  than  the  last. 
The  wide  topaz  river  sparkled  in  the  sun.  The  shaded 
walks  wound  invitingly  between  leaf-strewn  stretches 
of  green.  There  were  children  at  play  along  the 
smooth  crescents  of  the  drive,  and  sparrows  darted 
to  and  fro,  chirping. 

Thus  far  Agatha  had  walked,  head  down  and 
brows  puckered — evidently  concerned  with  "  auto- 
morphic  deductions."  (They  had  gone,  in  all,  some 
twenty  blocks,  which  was  a  sufficient  distance  for 
any  number  of  deductions.)  But  now  she  roused 
from  her  thoughts  and  looked  up  at  Mr.  McVicar. 
His  chin  was  on  his  breast,  his  eyes  were  lowered, 
and  his  manner  was  undisguisedly  dejected. 

She  touched  his  arm.  Then  she  stopped  and  stood 
on  tiptoe.  "  Aren't — you — well — to-day — either?  " 
she  inquired,  her  red  mouth  very  close,  so  that  he 
would  be  sure  to  understand. 

He  looked  down  at  her  for  a  long  moment.  Then 
he  wrote,  "  I  never  felt  better  or  happier  in  all  my 
life."  When  he  took  the  pad  again  his  hand  cov 
ered  hers  for  a  second.  Of  a  sudden  her  manner 
became  distinctly  reserved. 


Agatha's  Escort  203 

Presently  they  reached  a  shaded  bench.  He 
dusted  a  seat  for  her,  and  they  sat  down,  when  he 
wrote :  "  But  I  know  my  happiness  can't  last.  I 
meant  to  tell  you  last  night.  You  see,  I  have  an 
uncle — a  lawyer — who  thinks  I'm  wasting  my  time. 
I  must  quit." 

Agatha  coloured  painfully.  Mr.  Avery  had  driven 
a  close  bargain  with  him !  She  hastened  to  write 
in  return,  "  You  shall  get  what  your  uncle  thinks  is 
fair." 

"  There's  another  reason,  little  woman.  You  saw 
my  friends  yesterday.  They're  inquistive.  I'm 
afraid  they'll  annoy  you.  So  this  is  my  last  day." 
He  gazed  across  at  the  New  Jersey  shore. 

She  moved  nearer,  touching  his  arm  ever  so  lightly. 
"  Is — that — the — real — reason  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  watched  her  red  mouth  frame  each  word,  and 
his  face  lowered,  as  if  irresistibly  drawn  toward  hers. 
Then  his  head  sank  to  a  hand.  He  studied  the  path. 
Soon,  "  No,"  he  wrote,  "  it  isn't.  The  real  reason 
involves  a  great  happiness  that  I  daren't  hope  for." 

Agatha  leaned  even  closer.  "  There — is — a — 
possibility — of — your — speech — returning?  "  she 
guessed.  She  held  her  breath  at  the  very  thought 
of  it. 

He  nodded.  "  Yes,  it's  very  likely  that  my  speech 
will  come  back." 

Agatha  turned  away,  and  glad  tears  swam  be 
neath  the  black  lashes.  He  would  speak  again  !  He 
would  be  like  other  people!  Oh,  how  good!  Pres 
ently,  she  blinked  the  tears  away.  "  You — haven't 
always — been — this — way?  "  she  said. 

"  Not  always." 

"  When— did — it— happen?  " 


204  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"Quite  recently." 

Her  face  was  sweet  with  pity.  "  Were — you — 
struck — dumb  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  observed  her  steadily  for  a  moment.  "  I  was 
terribly  hard  hit,"  he  wrote. 

"  It — affected — your — hearing — too  ?  " 

"  It  even  affected  my  heart." 

"  Will — these— both— improve?  " 

"  It  depends  on  just  one  person." 

She  gave  him  a  smile  full  of  cheer.  "  Doctors — 
do — wonderful — fhings — these — days.  Is — this — 
one — homeopathic?  " 

"  No,  magnetic — awfully."  His  grey  eyes  searched 
hers  again.  "  Would  you  advise  me  to  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh — yes  !  Just — hope — has — wrought  mar 
vels."  Her  face  shone  with  earnestness. 

"  Bless  you.  But  you  don't  know  that  this  is  all 
the  result  of  my  own  wickedness." 

"  You — have — been' — more — than — punished — 
then." 

He  clenched  his  two  hands.  "Yes,  I  have  been 
punished,"  he  wrote.  "  If  you  ever  have  to  pass 
judgment  upon  me,  remember  that." 

"  Was — it — so — dreadful — what — you — did?  " 

He  thought  a  moment.  "  Not  when  you  consider 
the  temptation." 

"  What — was — the — temptation?  " 

He  hesitated  so  long  that  she  believed  he  had  not 
understood  her.  So  she  wrote  the  question,  "  What 
was  the  temptation?" 

"  A  girl." 

Agatha  shrank  back  in  sudden,  inexplicable  indig 
nation.  Then  she  rose  abruptly.  She  had  meant 


Agatha  s  Escort  205 

to  tell  him  that  if  he  were  to  regain  both  speech  and 
hearing  it  would  make  no  difference  in  their  ar 
rangements.  But  now 

He  rose,  also,  and  dropped  the  pad  into  a  pocket. 
Then  he  handed  her  the  parasol.  His  attitude  was 
one  of  resignation. 

Walking  homeward,  Agatha  looked  straight 
ahead,  and  two  bright,  red  spots  burned  in  a  circle 
about  her  dimples.  At  the  bottom  of  the  Connaugh- 
ton  flight,  she  gave  him  a  dignified  good-morning. 
He  held  out  a  card  to  her.  Then  he  raised  his 
hat. 

All  that  afternoon  Agatha  wandered  about  the 
library.  She  felt  a  surprising  indifference  toward  her 
thesis.  Every  little  while  she  drew  forth  Mr.  Mc- 
Vicar's  card.  It  contained,  in  addition  to  his  name, 
a  line  written  in  pencil,  "  Telephone,  River  0630." 
Why  had  he  written  that?  She  had  no  further  need 
of  him ! 

But  as  tea-time  neared  she  remembered  a  place 
that  she  felt  absolutely  called  upon  to  visit  in  con 
nection  with  her  work:  a  narrow  down-town  street, 
with  its  hosts  of  children  all  a-dance  on  the  gas- 
lighted  pavement.  Could  she  visit  the  crowded  block 
alone?  And  was  Mr.  McVicar's  time  up  for  that 
day  before,  say,  ten  or  eleven  o'clock?  Certainly 
not.  And  if  she  paid  for  his  time  .was  she  not  en 
titled  to  his  company  She  asked  central  for  River 
o-six-three-o. 

A  maid's  voice  answered  the  telephone.  "  Tell  Mr. 
McVicar,"  said  Agatha,  "  that  Miss  Kerr  will  want 
him  this  evening  at  eight." 

"  Very  well,  miss." 


206  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Agatha,  smiling  and  rosy  faced,  made  her  way 
tunefully  up  the  staircase. 

"What!  Going  out  at  night?"  demanded  Miss 
Connaughton,  from  the  drawing-room. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Agatha ;  "  what  have  I  an  es 
cort  for?  Oh,  tra-la-la,  tra-la-la,"  and,  singing,  she 
disappeared. 

Agatha  had  promised  to  telephone  Miss  Connaugh 
ton,  so  she  rang  up  directly  they  stepped  from  the 
cars  at  the  down-town  station.  "  I  can't  possibly 
get  home  till  eleven,  Auntie  dear,"  she  announced. 
"It  took  us  forty  minutes  to  come  just  this  far." 

"  Oh,  Agatha ! "  came  back  the  reply.  "  Come 
home — awful  news — Mr.  Avery — — " 

"  I  can't  hear  you,"  cried  Agatha.  "  The  ele 
vated  is  making  such  a  noise.  Rattle  your  'phone." 

"  Insolent  trick,"  went  on  Miss  Connaughton. 
The  remainder  was  a  jumble. 

Agatha  told  Mr.  McVicar  about  it.  "  I — can't 
— go — home,"  she  said.  "  This — evening — is — 
dreadfully — important.  Don't — you — think — so  ?  " 

"  YES,"  he  wrote — all  in  capitals.  Offering  her 
his  arm,  he  hurried  her  away. 

It  was  not  an  ideal  evening  for  Jones  Street. 
There  were  clouds  overhead  in  massive  motion  be 
fore  a  hot  wind.  The  gas-jets  leaped  and  hissed 
down  the  narrow  streets,  which  looked  particularly 
dark  and  forbidding.  Perhaps  the  children  would 
not  dance  on  the  pavement  that  night.  Agatha  did 
not  care. 

Mr.  McVicar  obviously  did  not  feel  as  cheerful 
as  she.  It  was  as  if  all  the  heart  had  gone  out  of 


Agatha  s  Escort  207 

him.  And  he  kept  looking  back.  It  made  Agatha 
nervous.  She  took  to  glancing  behind  also.  What 
was  he  expecting? 

They  approached  the  lone  figure  of  a  man — a  for 
lorn  figure  that  slouched  into  the  entrace  of  a  build 
ing  just  ahead.  Mr.  McVicar  crossed  the  street. 
They  passed  other  figures.  He  looked  each  over 
keenly.  She  shivered  a  little.  Oh,  she  was  glad 
he  was  so  big! 

They  hurried  forward.  Each  thoroughfare 
seemed  to  grow  narrower  and  gloomier  than  the  last. 
They  turned  innumerable  corners,  Agatha  clinging 
to  his  arm  with  increasing  timidity.  All  at  once, 
on  turning  another  corner  into  a  street  that  looked 
very  much  like  one  they  had  already  traversed,  they 
came  face  to  face  with  two  swarthy-skinned  persons, 
a  man  and  a  woman.  The  pair  were  evidently  gip 
sies,  for  the  woman  wore  a  red  handkerchief  upon 
her  head,  while  big,  gold  earrings  swung  against 
the  neck  of  the  man.  The  latter  carried  a  monkey. 
He  did  not  get  out  of  the  way.  Instead,  leering, 
he  held  out  a  hand. 

"  Give  me  da  mon  for  da  monk ! "  he  cried. 

"  Hurry !  "  Agatha  entreated.  Oh,  for  Auntie's 
brougham  now! 

Instead  of  hastening,  Mr.  McVicar  faced  the  man 
and  gave  him  a  resounding  cuff  upon  the  ear. 
Agatha,  the  sociologist,  became  that  moment  just 
a  normal,  terror-stricken  girl.  She  screamed.  With 
her  cry  mingled  the  raucous  protests  of  the  man  and 
the  hoarse  commands  of  the  woman,  for  Mr.  Mc 
Vicar  now  had  the  former  by  the  shoulders  and  was 
shaking  him  fiercely. 


208  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

The  hubbub  brought  aid.  Around  the  nearest 
corner  came  a  well-dressed  young  man,  piloting  a 
policeman  on  the  run.  A  moment,  and  around  an 
other  corner  came  another  well-dressed  young  man 
with  another  policeman. 

Next,  "  Cut  for  it ! "  Agatha  heard  a  voice  ex 
claim — a  deep  voice.  But,  strangely  enough,  the 
gipsies  did  not  attempt  to  get  away.  They  stood 
and  grinned  at  the  little  crowd  that  had  gathered. 

Mr.  McVicar  sprang  to  Agatha's  side.  He  was 
panting  and — could  it  be  true? — gurgling  what 
sounded  like  words ! 

Agatha  smiled  at  him  through  the  dim  light.  He 
had  protected  her.  Her  hand  crept  into  his.  Then 
she  gave  a  fresh  cry  of  fear.  His  fingers  were  wet 
— with  blood. 

"Oh,  he's  wounded!"  she  called. 

"  Did  he  bite  you?  "  demanded  one  of  the  police 
men — the  one  who  had  the  man-gipsy  by  the  coat. 
"  Well,  here— bite  him  back!  The  dog!  " 

"I  did  not  bite  him,"  protested  the  man-gipsy. 
"  It  was  the  monkey." 

"Where  is  that  monkey?"  shouted  the  woman- 
gipsy.  "  Say,  you  fellows,  hunt  him  up.  If  we 
lose  him  we're  out  twenty  plunks." 

Three  or  four  of  the  onlookers  scattered  in  differ 
ent  directions,  searching. 

"Shut  up,  you  she-devil!"  ordered  the  second 
officer. 

"  How  can  we  thank  you?  "  said  Agatha. 

"  No  thanks,  miss,"  said  officer  number  one.  "  Just 
come  along,  please,  for  to  testify." 

At  that  Mr.  McVicar  took  one  of  the  little  fingers 


Agatha's  Escort  209 

that  were  resting  between  his  and  deliberately 
pinched  it!  Agatha  understood.  To  go  with  the 
officers  meant  a  police  station ;  a  police  station  meant 
publicity,  sniffy  servants,  hysterical  aunt. 

Agatha  was,  at  times,  a  girl  of  resources.  She 
knew  they  must  get  away,  and  she  was  quick  to  de 
vise  how.  "  I  must  help  find  that  poor,  little  mon 
key,"  she  said.  "You  go  on.  We'll  follow." 

But  the  officer  shook  his  head.  "  If  you  was  to 
miss  the  station,"  said  he,  "  we'd  have  a  poor  case. 
Forget  the  monkey,  miss." 

Agatha  grew  desperate.  She  resolved  on  flight, 
so  she  seized  her  skirts  in  her  two  hands,  turned 
like  a  flash,  and  with  her  escort  fleeing  beside 
her,  and  almost  carrying  her  along,  she  raced 
away. 

The  officers  were  in  a  predicament.  They  yelled, 
they  whistled,  they  beat  on  the  pavement.  Then 
one  handed  over  his  prisoner  to  the  other  and  gave 
chase.  After  them,  in  loose  order,  came  the  on 
lookers. 

Up  one  street  went  Agatha  and  her  escort,  turned 
a  corner,  rushed  down  another,  turned  another  cor 
ner.  Luck  was  against  them.  A  third  officer  met 
them  squarely  as  they  came.  His  arms  were  out, 
made  longer  by  his  leather-bound  stick.  Gasping, 
they  fell  into  them. 

The  next  moment  the  pursuing  officer  had  them 
in  his  grasp.  "  Thank  you,  Sheehan,"  said  he. 
"  Face  about,  you !  "  This  to  Mr.  McVicar.  They 
began  the  return  march,  everyone  panting.  Count 
ing  the  onlookers,  they  made  quite  a  procession. 

The  other  officer  met  them  halfway,  a  gipsy  in 


210  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

either  hand.  "  Say,  Flynn,"  said  he,  "  they's  some 
thing  crooked  about  that  young  couple." 

"Crooked!"  burst  forth  Agatha,  with  sudden 
rage.  "  I  ran  because  I  don't  want  to  be  dragged 
into  a  police  station.  Please  let  go  of  my  sleeve." 
She  could  hear  the  onlookers  whispering  among 
themselves.  Oh,  it  was  too  mortifying! 

She  clung  to  the  representative  of  the  law,  and 
began  to  sob'.  Her  tears  had  instant  effect  upon  the 
little  crowd.  "  Oh,  let  the  young  lady  go,  officer," 
said  one  vdice.  "Yes,"  chorused  others.  "But 
pinch  the  tall  gentleman,"  added  the  man-gipsy. 

The  inexorable  officers  moved  forward.  Pres 
ently  they  all  trooped  into  a  police  station,  and 
the  principals  came  short  in  an  uneven  line  before  a 
battered  desk. 

A  blowzy  Celtic  visage  was  lifted  to  regard  them. 
Beneath  that  visage  was  a  wide,  open  book.  It 
seemed  the  very  Book  of  Judgment  to  poor  Agatha. 
She  glanced  at  Mr.  McVicar.  He  was  watching  her 
sorrowfully,  his  face  startingly  pale,  his  whole  atti 
tude  woeful. 

"  Hello !  "  said  he  of  the  wide  book.  For  Mr. 
McVicar,  his  look  was  casual;  for  Agatha,  it  was 
more  prolonged,  yet  not  unkind — though  the  buff- 
and-crocus  confection  was  tipped  rakishly  to  one 
side ;  for  the  gipsy  twain,  however,  it  was  condemna 
tory. 

The  gipsies  smiled  up  at  him.  "  Hello,  Lieuten 
ant  !  "  returned  they  audaciously. 

At  this  there  was  some  small  commotion  and  a 
general  giggling  in  the  rear  of  the  room.  Agatha 
peered  swiftly  round,  and  beheld  five  young  men 


Agatha's  Escort  211 

who  were  ranged  against  the  rear  wall.  They  were 
well  dressed.  They  were  grinning.  They  all  wore 
coloured  glasses. 

Officer  Flynn  was  talking.  "  I  was  comin'  along 
my  beat,"  said  he,  whereat  there  began  an  astonish 
ingly  truthful  account  of  the  late  melee.  It  was 
interrupted  by  wild  yowlings  from  a  room  evidently 
near  at  hand. 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  man-gipsy ;    "  the  monkey  !  " 

"  Th'  dhrunks  in  Noomber  3,"  explained  the  lieu 
tenant. 

Officer  Flynn  continued,  "  And  we  was  ready  to 
run  the  gipsies  in  when  the  young  gent  up  and  ske 
daddled." 

"  So  did  I,"  protested  Agatha,  but  the  lieutenant 
scowled  only  at  Mr.  McVicar.  "  I  made  him," 
added  Agatha  stoutly,  after  which  she  resolved  into 
tears  again. 

"  Now,  now,"  comforted  the  lieutenant.  "  Till  me, 
how  come  y'  t'  be  down  in  this  ind  of  th'  town,  any 
how?" 

"  I  am  concerned,"  sobbed  Agatha,  "  with  the  phe 
nomena  of  social  evolution." 

"Ah!"  said  the  lieutenant;  "  sittlements." 

"  So — so,"  she  struggled  on,  "  to-night  I  started 
for  Jones  Street " 

"  Jones  Street !  "  said  the  lieutenant.  Again  his 
scowl  was  fixed  upon  the  escort.  "  Young  man, 
phwat  was  y'  doin'  in  Greene?  " 

All  eyes  were  upon  Mr.  McVicar — the  lieutenant's 
with  suspicion,  the  gipsies'  with  bold  delight,  the 
policemen's  curiously,  Agatha's  in  appeal.  Mr.  Mc 
Vicar  was  now  all  tints — even  those  uncertain,  elu- 


212  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

sive  ones  that  are  so  much  affected  in  nouveau  art. 
His  lips  moved  spasmodically,  uttering  inaudible 
words. 

"  SPEAK !  "  thundered  the  lieutenant  impatiently. 

"  Yes,  speak."  This  from  the  grinning  gipsies, 
sotto  voce. 

Agatha  stepped  forward.  "  Officer,"  she  said, 
"  he's  deaf  and  dumb,  but  he  reads  the  lips." 

"  And  writes  with  his  toes,"  announced  the  man- 
gipsy. 

Agatha  cast  him  a  withering  glance.  Then  she 
lifted  her  face  to  the  escort.  "  Why — were — we — in 
Greene— Street?" 

He  was  now  startlingly  scarlet.  After  a  little  in 
decision  he  took  out  his  pad  and  wrote,  "  I  was  try 
ing  to  shake  the  gipsies."  He  showed  the  page  to 
Agatha. 

"Of  course,"  said  she.  Then,  to  the  lieutenant, 
"  He  was  trying  to  shake  the  gipsies." 

"  He  succeeded,"  cried  the  man-gipsy.  "  He 
shook  loose  my  four-dollar  earrings  and  a  twenty- 
dollar  monkey." 

This  statement  was  hailed  with  mirth  from  the 
rear.  The  maudlin  occupants  of  Number  3  joined 
in  noisily.  Even  the  policemen  smiled. 

The  next  moment  one  of  the  latter  gave  a  shout 
of  triumph.  "  Lieutenant,"  he  announced  excitedly, 
"  this  dago  is  wearin'  a  wig !  "  He  pointed  at  the 
black  mop  of  hair  that  hung  down  over  the  temples 
of  the  man-gipsy. 

The  man-gipsy  drew  himself  up  haughtily.  "  I 
am  not  a  dago,"  said  he,  with  dignity.  Then,  to 
the  lieutenant,  "  Your  eminence,  he  insults  me." 


Agatha's  Escort  213 

Agatha's  eyes  were  keen.  "  The  other  one,  too," 
she  whispered. 

Officer  Flynn  seized  the  wide,  scarlet  kerchief  on 
the  gipsy  woman's  head  and  gave  it  a  jerk.  It 
came  away — with  it  a  full  and  ropy  coiffure. 

"  Stung!  "  cried  the  woman. 

Now,  shorn  of  its  late  protection,  her  head  was 
masculine  in  appearance,  the  short,  brown  hair  show 
ing  itself  to  be  well  cut  and  carefully  kept.  When 
Officer  Flynn  had  plucked  off  the  man-gipsy's  wig 
there  was  disclosed  another  head  no  less  modishly 
barbered. 

The  lieutenant  was  a  man  of  long  experience. 

"  College,"  said  he. 

The  woman-gipsy  bowed.      "  You  are  inspired." 

From  behind  them  came  sounds  of  suffering — the 
five  gentlemen  in  the  rear  were  bent  to  the  floor. 
Seeing  them,  the  gipsies  fell  to  chortling  shrilly. 

The  lieutenant  was  turning  the  leaves  of  the  book. 
"  Inspired  nothin',"  said  he.  "  Whin  Oi  see  a  young 
ster  makin'  a  jackass  of  himself " 

And  it  was  then  that  something  dawned  upon 
Agatha:  these  were  all  friends  of  Mr.  McVicar's, 
and  this  was  what  he  had  meant  when  he  spoke  of 
their  "  annoying  "  her.  But  she  was  a  college  girl, 
and  knew  just  how  much  fun  could  be  gotten  out  of 
a  lark — even  a  silly,  sophomoric  lark.  She  glanced 
over  at  Mr.  McVicar  and  dimpled. 

"  An',  mebbe,"  went  on  the  lieutenant,  almost 
agreeably,  "  this  is  a'  inittyay tion  ?  " 

"  Something  on  that  order,"  said  the  woman- 
gipsy. 

"  It  was  all  in  the  interest  of  science,"  added  the 


214  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

man-gipsy.  "  We  were  endeavouring  to  make  the 
dumb  speak."  Here  he  began  to  make  finger-signs 
at  Agatha's  escort. 

Agatha,  shocked  by  the  cruelty  of  the  jest,  fairly 
whirled  round  upon  the  offender.  Her  reproof, 
however,  remained  unspoken ;  for  there,  between  the 
gipsies  and  the  door,  advancing  on  quick  foot,  was 
an  open-faced,  shrewd-eyed  young  man.  This  per 
son  halted  at  the  lieutenant's  elbow,  and  took  the 
company  in  with  swift  comprehension.  At  the  same 
time  he  drew  a  pencil  from  a  breast  pocket  and  a  yel 
low  pad  from  a  sagging  pocket  lower  down. 

Agatha  had  only  a  second  in  which  to  wonder  if 
he,  too,  were  d —  and  d —  when,  "  Aloysius,"  said  he 
to  the  lieutenant,  "  what's  doing?  "  He  pointed  at 
the  wigs. 

It  was  then  that  Agatha  realised  that  she  was  in 
the  presence  of  the  danger  that  she  (and  Auntie) 
so  much  feared.  The  shrewd-eyed  young  man  was 
a  reporter!  She  turned  helplessly  to  Mr.  McVicar. 

"  But  he  sha'n't  have  my  picture,"  she  muttered. 

Mr.  McVicar  looked  down  at  her  quickly — almost 
as  if  he  had  heard.  Then  his  grey  eyes  went  back 
to  the  lieutenant  and  the  newspaper  man.  His  hands 
were  twitching. 

The  lieutenant  glanced  up.  "  Aw,"  he  said  dis 
gustedly,  "  it's  only  a  fool  thrick."  Then,  to  the 
waiting  line,  "  Ye  kin  all  go." 

At  this  the  reporter  became  excited.  "  But  it 
ought  to  make  a  story.  Have  you  got  their 
names  ? "  He  sprang  to  the  side  of  the  woman- 
gipsy. 

It  was  now  that  Mr.  McVicar  did  an  extraordinary 


Agatha's  Escort  215 

thing.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  stepped 
between  the  reporter  and  the  woman-gipsy  and  gave 
the  latter  a  shove  that  sent  her  spinning  backward. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  desk. 

"  It  is  a  trick,"  he  declared,  "  a  mean,  contempti 
ble  trick,  and  I  am  mostly  to  blame  for  it.  But  it 
has  gone  far  enough." 

Agatha  gave  a  cry  of  amazement.  It  was  the 
deep  voice  she  had  heard  when  the  officers  were  ap 
proaching.  And  it  was  his !  This  was  not  gur 
gling:  this  was  speech!  She  sank  upon  a  bench,  her 
face  hidden  in  the  crook  of  one  trembling  arm,  and 
began  to  sob  wildly. 

"  Lieutenant,"  went  on  the  deep  voice,  "  I  ask  you 
to  save  this  young  lady  from  notoriety." 

The  lieutenant  promptly  leaned  far  over  and  ad 
dressed  the  woman-gipsy.  "  Ye  git,"  said  he 
harshly,  "  an'  yer  gang  wid  ye.  An'  if  Oi  hear  of 
y'  givin'  anny  names " 

The  woman-gipsy  held  up  a  defensive  hand.  "  Now 
that  the  dumb  hath  spoken,"  said  she,  "  far  be  it 
from  me  to  bring  grief " 

"  Hike !  "  interrupted  the  lieutenant. 

The  gipsies  stole  out,  after  them  the  five  well- 
dressed  young  men.  Next  the  officers  saluted  the 
desk  and  passed  Agatha  with  pitying  glances.  Only 
the  reporter  remained. 

"  Say,"  said  the  lieutenant  to  him,  "  Oi've  give  y' 
manny  a  scoop,  ain't  Oi?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  reporter,  "  you  have." 

"  Wull,  thin.  An'  d'ye  know  yere  missin'  th'  story 
of  yer  loife  this  siccond?  " 

"For  heaven's  sake!     What  is  it?" 


216  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

The  lieutenant  leaned  toward  him,  dropping  his 
voice  dramatically.  "  Hist !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  They's 
a  man  dead  in  Brooklyn !  "  He  gave  a  prodigious 
wink. 

"Oh,  I  see.  All  right,"  said  the  reporter.  He 
waved  a  hand  and  went  out. 

Then  Mr.  McVicar  began  to  speak  again — (to 
Agatha,  and  so  quaveringly  that  the  lieutenant  knew 
the  tears  were  close  there,  too.  The  lieutenant  turned 
his  back  and  fell  to  studying  a  map. 

"  I've  been  a  coward  and  a  cad,"  said  that  quaver 
ing  voice,  "  and  you'll  never  forgive  me.  But,  hon 
estly,  I  did  it  all  because  I — I  wanted  to  be  with 
you.  So  I  pretended  I  was — was — uncle  that  morn 
ing  that  I  telephoned.  Every  day  I  thought  the 
truth  would  come  out.  And  lots  of  times  I  came 
near  skipping  town.  The  fellows  wouldn't  let  me 
alone  a  minute — from  the  time  I  had  to  tell  one  of 
'em  (you  remember)  that  I  was  deaf  and  dumb. 
The  fiends!  Oh,  don't  cry  so!  I'd— I'd  die  if  it'd 
do  any  good." 

Agatha  raised  her  tear-wet  face.  "  I'm  not  c-r- 
crying  because  I'm  angry,"  she  sobbed,  putting  out 
her  two  hands  to  him.  "  I'm  c-c-crying  because 
you're  not  d —  and  d — ." 

His  strong  arms  caught  her  up  then  and  held  her 
close,  and  for  all  the  silent,  pent-up  hours  he  had 
spent  with  her  there  now  gushed  forth  a  thousand 
whispered  words  of  rapturous  endearment.  And  he 
kissed  her  poor,  trembling  lips,  her  chin,  her  black- 
lashed  eyelids — even  the  fluff  of  her  hair. 

"  Dearest,"  he  whispered,  "  I  loved  you  the  sec 
ond  I  spied  you  from  behind  that  reference  table." 


Agatha's  Escort  217 

Agatha  suddenly  stopped  her  sobbing.  Then  she 
leaned  away  from  him — and  looked  down.  The  plaid 
she  saw  above  his  half-shoes  was  red  and  brown  at 
right  angles  upon  a  French-knotted  ground  of  blue. 
It  was  not  exactly  the  plaid  that  had  been  displayed 
that  other  day,  but  it  was  a  full  cousin  to  it. 

The  sun  broke  through  the  clouds  then,  for  as  she 
looked  up  once  more  a  smile  lit  all  that  scarlet 
rounding  of  her  cheeks  where  her  dimples  were. 
"  Then,  d-dear,"  she  began,  both  glovexd  hands 
creeping  up  to  rest  on  his  shoulders,  "  wh-what  is 
your  tr-truly  name?  " 


A   YELLOW   MAN  AND   A   WHITE 

FONG   WU   sat   on   the   porch  of   his    little 
square-fronted    house,    chanting    into    the 
twilight.      Across    his     padded    blouse    of 
purple   lay   his   sam-yen  banjo.     And   as, 
from  time  to  time,  his  hymn  to  the  Three  Pure  Ones 
was  prolonged  in  high,  fine  quavers,  like  the  uneven, 
squeaky  notes  of  a  woman's  voice,  he  ran  his  left 
hand  up  the  slender  neck  of  the  instrument,  rested 
a  long  nail  of  his  right  on  its  taut,  snake's-skin  head, 
and  lightly  touched  the  strings ;  then,  in  quick,  thin 
tones,  they  followed  the  song  to  Sang-Ching. 

The  warm  shadows  of  a  California  summer  night 
were  settling  down  over  the  wooded  hills  and  rocky 
gulches  about  Fong  Wu's,  and  there  was  little  but 
his  music  to  break  the  silence.  Long  since,  the 
chickens  had  sleepily  sought  perches  in  the  hen  yard, 
with  its  high  wall  of  rooty  stumps  and  shakes,  and 
on  the  branches  of  the  Digger  pine  that  towered  be 
side  it.  Up  the  dry  creek  bed,  a  mile  away,  twin 
kled  the  lights  of  Whiskeytown ;  but  no  sounds  from 
the  homes  of  the  white  people  came  down  to  the 
lonely  Chinese.  If  his  clear  treble  was  interrupted, 
it  was  by  the  cracking  of  a  dry  branch  as  a  cotton 
tail  sped  past  on  its  way  to  a  stagnant  pool,  or  it 
was  by  a  dark-emboldened  coyote,  howling,  dog-like, 
at  the  moon  which,  white  as  the  snow  that  eternally 

218 


A  Yellow  Man  and  a  White        219 

coifs  the  Sierras,  was  just  rising  above  their  distant 
cobalt  line. 

One  year  before,  Fong  Wu,  heavily  laden  with  his 
effects,  had  slipped  out  of  the  stage  from  Redding 
and  found  his  way  to  a  forsaken,  ramshackle  build 
ing  below  Whiskey  town.  His  coming  had  proved  of 
no  small  interest.  When  the  news  finally  got  about 
that  "  a  monkey  "  was  living  in  "  Sam  Kennedy's 
old  place,"  it  was  thought,  for  a  while,  that  laundry- 
ing,  thereafter,  would  be  cheaply  done.  This  hope, 
however,  was  soon  dispelled.  For,  shortly  after  his 
arrival,  as  Fong  Wu  asked  at  the  grocery  store  for 
mail,  he  met  Radigan's  inquiry  of  "  You  do-  my 
washee,  John?  "  with  a  grave  shake  of  the  head. 
Similar  questions  from  others  were  met,  later,  in  a 
similar  way.  Soon  it  became  generally  known  that 
the  "  monkey  at  Sam  Kennedy's  "  did  not  do  wash 
ing;  so  he  was  troubled  no  further. 

Yet  if  Fong  Wu  did  not  work  for  the  people  of 
Whiskeytown,  he  was  not,  therefore,  idle.  Many  a 
sunrise  found  him  wandering  through  the  chaparral 
thickets  back  of  his  house,  digging  here  and  there 
in  the  red  soil  for  roots  and  herbs.  These  he  took 
home,  washed,  tasted,  and,  perhaps,  dried.  His 
mornings  were  mainly  spent  in  cooking  for  his  abun 
dantly  supplied  table,  tending  his  fowls  and  house, 
and  in  making  spotless  and  ironing  smooth  various 
undergarments — generous  of  sleeve  and  leg. 

But  of  an  afternoon,  all  petty  duties  were  laid 
aside,  and  he  sorted  carefully  into  place  upon  his 
shelves  numerous  little  bunches  and  boxes  of  dried 
herbs  and  numerous  tiny  phials  of  pungent  liquid 
that  had  come  to  him  by  post;  he  filled  wide  sheets 


220  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

of  foolscap  with  vertical  lines  of  queer  characters 
and  consigned  them  to  big,  plainly  addressed,  well- 
stamped  envelopes ;  he  scanned  closely  the  last  news 
papers  from  San  Francisco,  and  read  from  volumes 
in  divers  tonges ;  and  he  pored  over  the  treasured 
Taoist  book,  "  The  Road  to  Virtue." 

Sunday  was  his  one  break  in  the  week's  routine. 
Then,  the  coolies  who  panned  or  cradled  for  gold  in 
the  tailings  of  near-by  abandoned  mines,  gathered 
at  Fong  Wu's.  On  such  occasions,  there  was  end 
less,  lively  chatter,  a  steady  exchange  of  barbering 
— one  man  scraping  another  clean,  to  be,  in  turn, 
made  hairless  in  a  broad  band  about  the  poll  and  on 
cheek  and  chin — and  much  consuming  of  tasty 
chicken,  dried  fish,  pork,  rice,  and  melon  seeds.  To 
supplement  all  this,  Fong  Wu  recounted  the  news: 
the  arrival  of  a  consul  in  San  Francisco,  the  raid 
on  a  slave-  or  gambling-den,  the  progress  of  a  tong 
war  under  the  very  noses  of  the  baffled  police,  and  the 
growth  of  Coast  feeling  against  the  continued,  quiet 
immigration  of  Chinese.  But  of  the  social  or  politi 
cal  affairs  of  the  Flowery  Kingdom — of  his  own 
land  beyond  the  sea,  Fong  Wu  was  consistently 
silent. 

Added  to  his  Sunday  responsibilities  as  host  and 
purveyor  of  news,  Fong  Wu  had  others.  An  ailing 
countryman,  whether  seized  with  malaria  or  suffer 
ing  from  an  injury,  found  ready  and  efficient  atten 
tion.  The  bark  of  dogwood,  properly  cooked,  gave 
a  liquid  that  killed  the  ague ;  and  oil  from  a  diminu 
tive  bottle,  or  a  red  powder  whetted  upon  the  skin 
with  a  silver  piece,  brought  out  the  soreness  of  a 
bruise. 


A  Yellow  Man  and  a  White        221 

Thus,  keeping  his  house,  herb-hunting,  writing, 
studying,  entertaining,  doctoring,  Fong  Wu  lived 
on  at  Whiskeytown. 

Each  evening,  daintily  manipulating  ivory  chop 
sticks,  he  ate  his  supper  of  rice  out  of  a  dragon- 
bordered  bowl.  Then,  when  he  had  poured  tea  from 
a  pot,  all  gold-encrusted — a  cluster  of  blossoms  nod 
ding  in  a  vase  at  his  shoulder,  the  while — he  went 
out  upon  the  porch  of  the  square-fronted  house. 

And  there,  as  now,  a  scarlet-buttoned  cap  on  his 
head,  his  black  eyes  soft  with  dreaming,  his  richly 
wrought  sandals  tapping  the  floor  in  time,  his  long 
queue — a  smooth,  shining  serpent — in  thick  coils 
about  his  tawny  neck,  Fong  Wu  thrummed  gently 
upon  the  three-stringed  ban j  o,  and,  in  peace,  chanted 
into  the  twilight. 

;•  •  '•  ••  i*' 

Flying  hoofs  scattered  the  gravel  on  the  strip  of 
road  before  Fong  Wu's.  He  looked  through  the 
gloom  and  saw  a  horse  flash  past,  carrying  a  skirted 
rider  toward  Whiskeytown.  His  song  died  out.  He 
let  his  banjo  slip  down  until  its  round  head  rested 
between  his  feet.  Then,  he  turned  his  face  up  the 
gulch. 

Despite  the  dusk,  he  knew  the  traveller :  Mrs.  An 
thony  Barrett,  who,  with  her  husband,  had  recently 
come  to  live  in  a  house  near  Stillwater.  Every  even 
ing,  when  the  heat  was  over,  she  went  by,  bound  for 
the  day's  mail  at  the  post-office.  Every  evening,  in 
the  cool,  Fong  Wu  saw  her  go,  and  sometimes  she 
gave  him  a  friendly  nod. 

Her  mount  was  a  spirited,  mouse-dun  mustang, 
with  crop-ears,  a  roached  mane,  and  the  back  mark- 


222  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

ings  of  an  Arab  horse.  She  always  rode  at  a  run, 
sitting  with  easy  erectness.  A  wide  army  hat  rested 
snugly  on  her  fair  hair,  and  shaded  a  white  forehead 
and  level-looking  eyes.  But  notwithstanding  the 
sheltering  brim,  on  her  girlish  face  were  set  the  glow 
ing  scarlet  seals  of  wind  and  sun. 

As  he  peered  townward  after  her,  Fong  Wu  heard 
the  hurrying  hoof  beats  grow  gradually  fainter  and 
fainter — and  cease.  Presently  the  moon  topped  the 
pines  on  the  foot-hills  behind  him,  bathing  the  gulch 
in  light.  The  road  down  which  she  would  come 
sprang  into  view.  He  watched  its  farthest  open 
point.  In  a  few  moments  the  hoof  beats  began 
again.  Soon  the  glint  of  a  light  waist  showed 
through  the  trees.  Next,  horse  and  rider  rounded 
a  curve  at  hand.  Fong  Wu  leaned  far  forward. 

And  then,  just  as  the  mustang  gained  the  strip  of 
road  before  the  square- fronted  house,  it  gave  a  sud 
den,  unlooked-for,  outward  leap,  reared  with  a  wild 
snort,  and,  whirling,  dashed  past  the  porch — rider 
less. 

With  an  exclamation,  Fong  Wu  flung  his  banjo 
aside  and  ran  to  the  road.  There  under  a  manzanita 
bush,  huddled  and  still,  lay  a  figure.  He  caught  it 
up,  bore  it  to  the  porch,  and  put  it  gently  down. 

A  brief  examination,  made  with  the  deftness  prac 
tice  gives,  showed  him  that  no  bones  were  broken. 
Squatting  beside  the  unconscious  woman,  he  next 
played  slowly  with  his  long-nailed  fingers  upon  her 
pulse.  Its  beat  reassured  him.  He  lighted  a  lamp 
and  held  it  above  her.  The  scarlet  of  her  cheeks 
was  returning. 

The  sight  of  her,  who  was  so  strong  and  active, 


A  Yellow  Man  and  a  White        223 

stretched  weak  and  fainting,  compelled  Fong  Wu 
into  spoken  comment.  "  The  petal  of  a  plum  blos 
som,"  he  said  compassionately,  in  his  own  tongue. 

She  stirred  a  little.  He  moved  back.  As,  reviv 
ing,  she  opened  her  eyes,  they  fell  up6n  him.  But 
he  was  half-turned  away,  his  face  as  blank  and  life 
less  as  a  mask. 

She  gave  a  startled  cry  and  sat  up.  "  Me 
hurtee?  "  she  asked  him,  adopting  pidgeon-English. 
"Mefalleeoff?" 

Fong  Wu  rose.  "  You  were  thrown,"  he  an 
swered  gravely. 

She  coloured  in  confusion.  "  Pardon  me,"  she 
said,  "  for  speaking  to  you  as  if  you  were  a  coolie." 
Then,  as  she  got  feebly  to  her  feet — "  I  believe  my 
right  arm  is  broken." 

"  I  have  some  knowledge  of  healing,"  he  declared ; 
"  let  me  look  at  it."  Before  she  could  answer,  he 
had  ripped  the  sleeve  away.  "  It  is  only  a  sprain," 
he  said.  "  Wait."  He  went  inside  for  an  amber 
liquid  and  bandages.  When  he  had  laved  the  in 
jured  muscles,  he  bound  them  round. 

"  How  did  it  happen?  "  she  asked,  as  he  worked. 
He  was  so  courteous  and  professional  that  her  alarm 
was  gone. 

"  Your  horse  was  frightened  by  a  rattlesnake  in  the 
road.  I  heard  it  whir." 

She  shuddered.  "  I  ought  to  be  thankful  that  I 
didn't  come  my  cropper  on  it,"  she  said,  laughing 
nervously. 

He  went  inside  again,  this  time  to  prepare  a  cup 
ful  of  herbs.  When  he  offered  her  the  draught, 
she  screwed  up  her  face  over  its  nauseating  fumes. 


224  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"If  that  acts  as  strongly  as  it  tastes,"  she  said, 
after  she  had  drunk  it,  "  I'll  be  well  soon." 

"  It  is  to  keep  away  inflammation." 

"Oh!      Can  I  go  now?" 

"  Yes.  But  to-morrow  return,  and  I  will  look  at 
the  arm."  He  took  the  lamp  away  and  replaced  his 
red-buttoned  cap  with  a  black  felt  hat.  Then  he 
silently  preceded  her  down  the  steps  to  the  road. 
Only  when  the  light  of  her  home  shone  plainly  ahead 
of  them,  did  he  leave  her. 

They  had  not  spoken  on  the  way.  But  as  he 
bowed  a  good-night,  she  addressed  him.  "  I  thank 
you,"  she  said.  "  And  may  I  ask  your  name?  " 

"  Kwa " — he  began,  and  stopped.  Emotion  for 
an  instant  softened  his  impassive  countenance.  He 
turned  away.  "  Fong  Wu,"  he  added,  and  was 
gone. 

The  following  afternoon  the  crunch  of  cart  wheels 
before  the  square-fronted  house  announced  her  com 
ing.  Fong  Wu  closed  "  The  Book  of  Virtue,"  and 
stepped  out  upon  the  porch. 

A  white  man  was  seated  beside  her  in  the  vehicle. 
As  she  sprang  from  it,  light-footed  and  smiling,  and 
mounted  the  steps,  she  indicated  him  politely  to  the 
Chinese. 

"  This  is  my  husband,"  she  said.  "  I  have  told 
him  how  kind  you  were  to  me  last  night." 

Fong  Wu  nodded. 

Barrett  hastened  to  voice  his  gratitude.  "  I  cer 
tainly  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  he  said.  "  My 
wife  might  have  been  bitten  by  the  rattler,  or  she 
might  have  lain  all  night  in  pain  if  you  hadn't 
found  her.  And  I  want  to  say  that  your  treatment 


A  Yellow  Man  and  a  White        225 

was  splendid.  Why,  her  arm  hasn't  swollen  or  hurt 
her.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  can  see — you're  such  a 
good  doctor — why  you  stay  in  this " 

Fong  Wu  interrupted  him.  "  I  will  wet  the  band 
age  with  medicine,"  he  said,  and  entered  the  house. 

They  watched  him  with  some  curiosity  as  he 
treated  the  sprain  and  studied  the  pulse.  When 
he  brought  out  her  second  cup  of  steaming  herbs, 
Mrs.  Barrett  looked  up  at  him  brightly. 

"  You  know  we're  up  here  for  Mr.  Barrett's 
health,"  she  said.  "  A  year  or  so  after  we  were 
married,  he  was  hurt  in  a  railway  collision.  Since 
then,  though  his  wounds  healed  nicely,  he  has  never 
been  quite  well.  Dr.  Lord,  our  family  physician, 
prescribed  plenty  of  rough  work,  and  a  quiet  place, 
far  from  the  excitement  of  a  town  or  city.  Now,  all 
this  morning,  when  I  realised  how  wonderful  it  was 
that  my  arm  wasn't  aching,  I've  been  urging  my 
husband — what  do  you  suppose? — to  come  and  be 
examined  by  you !  " 

Fong  Wu,  for  the  first  time,  looked  fully  at  the 
white  man,  marking  the  sallow,  clayey  face,  with  its 
dry,  lined  skin,  its  lustreless  eyes  and  drooping  lids. 

Barrett  scowled  at  his  wife.  "  Nonsense,  dear," 
he  said  crossly ;  "  you  know  very  well  that  Lord 
would  never  forgive  me." 

"  But  Fong  Wu  might  help  you,  Anthony,"  she 
declared. 

Fong  Wu's  black  eyes  were  still  fixed  searchingly 
upon  the  white  man.  Before  their  scrutiny,  soul- 
deep,  the  other's  faltered  and  fell. 

"  You  might  help  him,  mightn't  you,  Fong  Wu?  " 
Mrs.  Barrett  repeated. 


226  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

An  expression,  curious,  keen,  and  full  of  meaning, 

was  the  answer.  Then,  "I  might  if  he "  Fong 

Wu  said,  and  paused. 

Past  Mrs.  Barrett,  whose  back  was  toward  her 
husband,  the  latter  had  shot  a  warning  glance. 
"  Come,  come,  Edith,"  he  cried  irritably,  "  let's  get 
home." 

Mrs.  Barrett  emptied  her  cup  bravely.  "  When 
shall  we  call  again?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  need  not  come  again,"  Fong  Wu  replied. 
"  Each  day  you  have  only  to  dampen  the  bandages 
from  these."  He  handed  her  a  green-flowered  box 
containing  twelve  tiny  compartments;  in  each  was 
a  phial. 

"  And  I  sha'n't  have  to  take  any  more  of  this — 
this  awful  stuff?"  she  demanded  gaily,  giving  back 
the  cup. 

"No." 

"  Ah !  And  now,  I  want  to  thank  you  again, 
with  all  my  heart.  Here" — she  reached  into  the 
pocket  of  her  walking-skirt — "  here  is  something  for 
your  trouble."  Two  double-eagles  lay  on  her  open 
palm. 

Fong  Wu  frowned  at  them.  "  I  take  no  money," 
he  said,  a  trifle  gruffly.  And  as  she  got  into  the 
cart,  he  closed  the  door  of  his  home  behind  him. 

It  was  a  week  before  Mrs.  Barrett  again  took 
up  her  rides  for  the  mail.  When  she  did,  Fong 
Wu  did  not  fail  to  be  on  his  porch  as  she  passed. 
For  each  evening,  as  she  cantered  up  the  road,  spur 
ring  the  mustang  to  its  best  paces,  she  reined  to 
speak  to  him.  And  he  met  her  greeting  with  unac 
customed  good  humour. 


A  Yellow  Man  and  a  White        227 

Then  she  went  by  one  morning  before  sunrise,  rid 
ing  like  the  wind.  A  little  later  she  repassed,  whip 
ping  her  horse  at  every  gallop.  Fong  Wu,  called 
to  his  door  by  the  clatter,  saw  her  face  was  white 
and  drawn.  At  noon,  going  up  to  the  post-office, 
he  heard  a  bit  of  gossip  that  seemed  to  bear  upon 
her  unwonted  trip.  Radigan  was  rehearsing  it  ex 
citedly  to  his  wife,  and  the  Chinese  busied  himself 
with  his  mail  and  listened — apparently  unconcerned. 

"  I  c'n  tell  you  she  ain't  afraid  of  anythin',  that 
Mrs.  Barrett,"  the  post-master  was  saying;  "neither 
th'  cayuse  she  rides  or  a  critter  on  two  legs.  An' 
that  fancy  little  drug-clerk  from  'Frisco  got  it 
straight  from  th'  shoulder." 

"  S-s-sh !  "  admonished  his  wife,  from  the  back  of 
the  office.  "Isn't  there  someone  outside?" 

"  Naw,  just  th'  chink  from  Kennedy's.  Well,  as 
I  remarked,  she  did  jus'  light  into  that  dude.  '  It 
was  criminal!'  she  says,  an'  her  eyes  snapped  like 
a  whip ;  '  it  was  criminal !  an'  if  I  find  out  for  sure 
that  you  are  guilty,  I'll  put  you  where  you'll  never 
do  it  again.'  Th'  young  gent  smirked  at  her  an' 
squirmed  like  a  worm.  '  You're  wrong,  Mrs.  Bar 
rett,'  he  says,  lookin'  like  th'  meek  puppy  he  is,  '  an' 
you'll  have  t'  look  some  place  else  for  th'  person 
that  done  it.'  But  she  wouldn't  talk  no  longer — 
jus'  walked  out,  as  mad  as  a  hornet." 

"  Well,  well,"  mused  Mrs.  Radigan.  "  I  wonder 
what  'twas  all  about.  '  Criminal,'  she  said,  eh? 
That's  funny!"  She  walked  to  the  front  of  the 
office  and  peeked  through  the  wicket.  But  no  one 
was  loitering  near  except  Fong  Wu,  and  his  face 
was  the  picture  of  dull  indifference. 


228  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

That  night,  long  after  the  hour  for  Mrs.  Barrett's 
regular  trip,  and  long  past  the  time  for  his  supper- 
song,  Fong  Wu  heard  slow,  shuffling  steps  approach 
the  house.  A  moment  afterward,  the  knob  of  his 
door  rattled.  He  put  out  his  light  and  slipped  a 
knife  into  his  loose  sleeve. 

After  some  mumbling  and  moving  about  on  the 
porch,  a  man  called  out  to  him.  He  recognised  the 
voice. 

"  Fong  Wu  I  Fong  Wu ! "  it  begged.  "  Let  me 
in.  I  want  to  see  you;  I  want  to  ask  you  for 
help — for  something  I  need.  Let  me  in ;  let  me 
in." 

Fong  Wu,  without  answering,  relit  his  lamp,  and, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  is  at  the  same  time  both 
relieved  and  a  witness  of  the  expected,  flung  the  door 
wide. 

Then  into  the  room,  writhing  as  if  in  fearful 
agony,  his  hands  palsied,  his  face  a-drip  and,  except 
for  dark  blotches  about  the  mouth,  green-hued,  his 
eyes  wild  and  sunken,  fell,  rather  than  tottered,  An 
thony  Barrett. 

"  Fong  Wu,"  he  pleaded,  from  the  floor  at  the 
other's  feet,  "  you  helped  my  wife,  when  she  was  sick, 
now  help  me.  I'm  dying!  I'm  dying!  Give  it  to 
me,  for  God's  sake!  give  it  to  me."  He  caught  at 
the  skirt  of  Fong  Wu's  blouse. 

The  Chinese  retreated  a  little,  scowling.  "  What 
do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked. 

A  paroxysm  of  pain  seized  Barrett.  He  half 
rose  and  stumbled  forward.  "  You  know,"  he 
panted,  "  you  know.  And  if  I  don't  have  some,  I'll 
die.  I  can't  get  it  anywhere  else.  She's  found  me 
out,  and  scared  the  drug-clerk.  Oh,  just  a  little, 


A  Yellow  Man  and  a  White        229 

old  man,  just  a  little!"  He  sank  to  the  floor 
again. 

"  I  can  give  you  nothing,"  said  Fong  Wu  bluntly. 
"  I  do  not  keep — what  you  want." 

With  a  curse,  Barrett  was  up  again.  "  Oh,  you 
don't,"  he  screamed,  leering  frenziedly.  "  You  yel 
low  devil !  You  almond-eyed  pigtail !  But  I  know 
you  do !  And  I  must  have  it.  Quick !  quick !  "  He 
hung,  clutching,  on  the  edge  of  Fong  Wu's  wide  iron 
ing-table,  an  ashen  wreck.  Fong  Wu  shook  his  head. 

With  a  cry,  Barrett  came  at  him  and  seized  his 
lean  throat.  "  You  damned  highbinder ! "  he 
gasped.  "  You  saddle-nosed  monkey !  You'll  get 
me  what  I  want  or  I'll  give  you  away.  Don't  I 
know  why  you're  up  here  in  these  woods,  with  your 
pretty  clothes  and  your  English  talk  A-ha!  You 
bet  I  do  !  You're  hiding,  and  you're  wanted ;  " — he 
dropped  his  voice  to  a  whisper — "  the  tongs  would 
pay  head-money  for  you.  If  you  don't  give  it  to  me, 
I'll  put  every  fiend  in  'Frisco  on  your  trail." 

Fong  Wu  had  caught  Barrett's  wrists.  Now  he 
cast  him  to  one  side.  "  Tongs ! "  he  said  with  a 
shrug,  as  if  they  were  beneath  his  notice.  And 
"  Fiends !  "  he  repeated  contemptuously,  a  taunt  in 
his  voice. 

The  white  man  had  fallen  prone  and  was  grovel 
ling  weakly.  "  Oh,  I  won't  tell  on  you,"  he  wailed 
imploringly.  "  I  won't,  I  won't,  Fong  Wu ;  I  swear 
it  on  my  honour." 

Fong  Wu  grunted  and  reached  to  a  handy  shelf. 
"  I  will  make  a  bargain  with  you,"  he  said  craftily ; 
"  first,  you  are  to  drink  what  I  wish." 

"Anything!    anything!"  Barrett  cried. 


230  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

From  a  box  of  dry  herbs,  long  untouched,  the  Chi 
nese  drew  out  a  handful.  There  was  no  time  for 
brewing.  Outraged  nature  demanded  instant  relief. 
He  dropped  them  into  a  bowl,  covered  them  with 
water,  and  stirred  swiftly.  When  the  stems  and 
leaves  were  broken  up  and  well  mixed,  he  strained  a 
brown  liquid  from  them  and  put  it  to  the  other's 
lips. 

"Drink,"  he  commanded,  steadying  the  shaking 
head. 

Barrett  drank,  unquestioning. 

Instantly  the  potion  worked.  Calmed  as  if  by  a 
miracle,  made  drowsy  to  a  point  where  speech  was 
impossible,  the  white  man,  tortured  but  a  moment 
before,  tipped  sleepily  into  Fong  Wu's  arms.  The 
Chinese  waited  until  a  full  effect  was  secured,  when 
he  lifted  his  limp  patient  to  the  blanket-covered  iron 
ing-table.  Then  he  went  out  for  fuel,  built  a  fire, 
and,  humming  softly — with  no  fear  of  waking  the 
other — sat  down  to  watch  the  steeping  of  more 
herbs. 

•  •  ••• 

What  happened  next  at  the  square-fronted  house 
was  the  unexpected.  Again  there  was  a  sound  of 
approaching  footsteps,  again  someone  gained  the 
porch,  But  this  time  there  was  no  pausing  to  ask 
for  admission,  there  were  no  weak  requests  for  aid. 
A  swift  hand  felt  for  the  knob  and  found  it ;  a  strong 
arm  pushed  at  the  unlocked  door.  And  through  it, 
bareheaded,  with  burning  eyes  and  blanched  cheeks, 
her  heavy  riding-whip  dangling  by  a  thong  from  her 
wrist,  came  the  wife  of  Anthony  Barrett. 

Just  across  the  sill  she  halted  and  swept  the  dim 


A  Yellow  Man  and  a  White        231 

room.  A  moment,  and  the  burning  eyes  fell  upon 
the  freighted  ironing-table.  She  gave  a  piercing 
cry. 

Fong  Wu  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

After  the  first  outburst,  she  was  quiet — the  quiet 
that  is  deliberative,  threatening.  Then  she  slowly 
closed  her  fingers  about  the  whip  butt.  Fixing  her 
gaze  in  passionate  anger  upon  him,  she  advanced 
a  few  steps. 

"  So  it  was  you"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  hol 
low. 

To  that  he  made  no  sign,  and  even  his  colourless 
face  told  nothing. 

She  came  forward  a  little  farther,  and  sucked  in 
a  long,  deep  breath.  "  You  dog  of  a  Chinaman !  " 
she  said  at  last,  and  struck  her  riding-skirt. 

Fong  Wu  answered  silently.  With  an  imperative 
gesture,  he  pointed  out  the  figure  on  the  ironing- 
table. 

She  sprang  to  her  husband's  side  and  bent  over 
him.  Presently  she  began  to  murmur  to  herself. 
When,  finally,  she  turned,  there  were  tears  on  her 
lashes,  she  was  trembling  visibly,  and  she  spoke  in 
whispers. 

"Was  I  wrong?"  she  demanded  brokenly.  "I 
must  have  been.  He's  not  had  it ;  I  can  tell  by  his 
quick,  easy  breathing.  And  his  ear  has  a  faint 
colour.  You  are  trying  to  help  him!  I  know!  I 
know!" 

A  gleaming  white  line  showed  between  the  yellow 
of  Fong  Wu's  lips.  He  picked  up  a  rude  stool  and 
set  it  by  the  table.  She  sank  weakly  upon  it,  letting 
the  whip  fall. 


232  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Thank  God !  thank  God !  "  she  sobbed  prayer 
fully,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  arms. 

Throughout  the  long  hours  that  followed,  Fong 
Wu,  from  the  room's  shadowy  rear,  sat  watching. 
He  knew  sleep  did  not  come  to  her.  For  now  and 
then  he  saw  her  shake  from  head  to  heel  convulsively; 
as  he  had  seen  men  in  his  own  country  quiver  beneath 
the  scourge  of  bamboos.  Now  and  then,  too,  he 
heard  her  give  a  stifled  moan,  like  the  protest  of  a 
dumb  creature.  But  in  no  other  ways  did  she  bare 
her  suffering.  Quietly,  lest  she  wake  her  husband, 
she  fought  out  the  night. 

Only  once  did  Fong  Wu  look  away  from  her. 
Then,  in  anger  and  disgust  his  eyes  shifted  to  the 
figure  on  the  table.  "  The  petal  of  a  plum  blos 
som  " — he  muttered  in  Chinese — "  the  petal  of  a 
plum  blossom  beneath  the  hoofs  of  a  pig ! "  And 
again  his  eyes  dwelt  upon  the  grief-bowed  wife. 

But  when  the  dawn  came  stealing  up  from  behind 
the  purple  Sierras,  and  Mrs.  Barrett  raised  her  wan 
face,  he  was  studiously  reviewing  his  rows  of  bottles, 
outwardly  unaware  of  her  presence. 

"  Fong  Wu,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  when  will 
he  wake?" 

"  When  he  is  rested ;  at  sunrise,  maybe,  or  at 
noon." 

"And  then?" 

"  He  will  be  feeble.  I  shall  give  him  more  medi 
cine,  and  he  will  sleep  again." 

He  rose  and  busied  himself  at  the  fire.  Soon  he 
approached  her,  bringing  the  gold-incrusted  teapot 
and  a  small,  handleless  cup. 

She  drank  thirstily,  filling  and  emptying  the  cup 


A  Yellow  Man  and  a  White        233 

many  times.  When  she  was  done,  she  made  as  if 
to  go.  "  I  shall  see  that  everything  is  all  right 
at  home,"  she  told  him.  "  After  that,  I  shall  come 
back."  She  stooped  and  kissed  her  husband  ten 
derly. 

Fong  Wu  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  she  passed 
out.  In  the  road,  unhitched,  but  waiting,  stood  the 
mustang.  She  mounted  and  rode  away. 

When  she  returned,  not  long  afterward,  she  was  a 
new  woman.  She  had  bathed  her  face  and  donned 
a  fresh  waist.  Her  eyes  were  alight,  and  the  scar 
let  was  again  flaming  in  her  cheeks.  Almost  cheer 
fully,  and  altogether  hopefully,  she  resumed  her  post 
at  the  ironing-table. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  Barrett  woke. 
But  he  made  no  attempt  to  get  up,  and  would  not 
eat.  Fong  Wu  administered  another  dose  of  herbs, 
and  without  heeding  his  patient's  expostulations. 
The  latter,  after  seeking  his  wife's  hand,  once  more 
sank  into  sleep. 

Just  before  sunset,  Fong  Wu,  who  scorned  to  rest, 
prepared  supper.  Gratefully  Mrs.  Barrett  partook 
of  some  tender  chicken  and  rice  cakes.  When  dark 
ness  shut  down,  they  took  up  their  second  long  vigil. 

But  it  was  not  the  vigil  of  the  previous  night. 
She  was  able  to  think  of  other  things  than  her  hus 
band's  condition  and  the  doom  that,  of  a  sudden, 
had  menaced  her  happiness.  Her  spirits  having 
risen,  she  was  correspondingly  impatient  of  a  pro 
tracted,  oppressive  stillness,  and  looked  about  for 
an  interruption,  and  for  diversion.  Across  from 
her,  a  Celestial  patrician  in  his  blouse  of  purple 
silk  and  his  red-buttoned  cap,  sat  Fong  Wu.  Con- 


234  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

sumed  with  curiosity — now  that  she  had  time  to  ob 
serve  him  closely — she  longed  to  lift  the  yellow,  ex 
pressionless  mask  from  his  face — a  face  which  might 
have  patterned  that  of  an  Oriental  sphinx.  At  mid 
night,  when  he  approached  the  table  to  satisfy  him 
self  of  Barreett's  progress,  and  to  assure  her  of  it, 
she  essayed  a  conversation. 

Glancing  up  at  his  laden  shelves,  she  said,  "  I 
have  been  noticing  your  medicines,  and  how  many 
kinds  there  seem  to  be." 

"  For  each  ailment  that  is  visited  upon  man,  earth 
offers  a  cure,"  he  answered.  "  Life  would  be  a  mock 
could  Death,  unchallenged,  take  it." 

"  True.  Have  you  found  in  the  earth,  then,  the 
cure  for  each  ailment  of  man  ?  " 

"For  most,  yes.  They  seek  yet,  where  I  learned 
the  art  of  healing,  an  antidote  for  the  cobra's  bite. 
I  know  of  no  other  they  lack." 

"  Where  you  were  taught  they  must  know  more 
than  we  of  this  country  know." 

Fong  Wu  gave  his  shoulders  a  characteristic 
shrug. 

"  But,"  she  continued,  "  you  speak  English  so  per 
fectly.  Perhaps  you  were  taught  that  in  this  coun 
try." 

«  No — in  England.     But  the  other,  I  was  not." 

"In  England!     Well!" 

"  I  went  there  as  a  young  man." 

"  But  these  herbs,  these  medicines  you  have — they 
did  not  come  from  England,  did  they  ?  " 

He  smiled.  "  Some  came  from  the  hills  at  our 
back."  Then,  crossing  to  his  shelves  and  reaching 
up,  "  This  " — he  touched  a  silk-covered  package — - 


A  Yellow  Man  and  a  White        235 

"  is  from  Sumbawa  in  the  Indian  Sea ;  and  this  " — 
his  finger  was  upon  the  cork  of  a  phial — "  is  from 
Feng-shan,  Formosa;  and  other  roots  are  taken  in 
winter  from  the  lake  of  Ting-Ting-hu,  which  is  then 
dry ;  and  still  others  come  from  the  far  mountains  of 
Chamur." 

"  Do  you  know,"  Mrs.  Barrett  said  tentatively, 
"  I  have  always  heard  that  Chinese  doctors  give  hor 
rid  things  for  medicine — sharks'  teeth,  frogs'  feet, 
lizards'  tails,  and — and  all  sorts  of  dreadful  things." 

Fong  Wu  proffered  no  enlightenment. 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  went  on,  "  that  I  have  learned 
better." 

After  a  while  she  began  again :  "  Doubtless  there 
is  other  wonderful  knowledge,  besides  that  about 
doctoring,  which  Chinese  gentlemen  possess." 

Fong  Wu  gave  her  a  swift  glance.  "  The  fol 
lowers  of  Laou-Tsze  know  many  things,"  he  replied, 
and  moved  into  the  shadows  as  if  to  close  their 
talk. 

Toward  morning,  when  he  again  gave  her  some 
tea,  she  spoke  of  something  that  she  had  been  turn 
ing  over  in  her  mind  for  hours. 

"  You  would  not  take  money  for  helping  me  when 
I  was  hurt,"  she  said,  "  and  I  presume  you  will  re 
fuse  to  take  it  for  what  you  are  doing  now.  But 
I  should  like  you  to  know  that  Mr.  Barrett  and  I 
will  always,  always  be  your  friends.  If " — she 
looked  across  at  him,  no  more  a  part  of  his  rude  sur 
roundings,  than  was  she — "  if  ever  there  comes  a 
time  when  we  could  be  of  use  to  you,  you  have  only 
to  tell  us.  Please  remember  that." 

"  I  will  remember." 


236  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  I  cannot  help  but  feel,"  she  went  on,  and  with 
a  sincere  desire  to  prove  her  gratitude,  rather  than 
to  pry  out  any  secret  of  his,  "  that  you  do  not  be 
long  here — that  you  are  in  more  trouble  than  I  am. 
For  what  can  a  man  of  your  rank  have  to  do  in  a 
little  town  like  this !  " 

He  was  not  displeased  with  her.  "The  ancient 
sage,"  he  said  slowly,  "  mounted  himself  upon  a  black 
ox  and  disappeared  into  the  western  wilderness  of 
Thibet.  Doubtless  others,  too,  seek  seclusion  for 
much  thinking." 

"  But  you  are  not  the  hermit  kind,"  she  declared 
boldly.  "  You  belong  to  those  who  stay  and  fight. 
Yet  here  you  are,  separated  from  your  people  and 
your  people's  graves — alone  and  sorrowful." 

"  As  for  my  living  people,  they  are  best  without 
me;  as  for  my  people  dead,  I  neither  worship  their 
dust  nor  propitiate  devils.  The  wise  one  said:  '  Why 
talk  forever  on  of  men  who  are  long  gone?  '•" 

"Yet "  she  persisted. 

He  left  the  stove  and  came  near  her.  "  You  are 
a  woman,  but  you  know  much.  You  are  right.  My 
heart  is  heavy  for  a  thing  I  cannot  do — for  the  shat 
tered  dreams  of  the  men  of  Hukwang."  He  beat 
his  palms  together  noiselessly,  and  moved  to  and  fro 
on  soft  sandals.  "  Those  dreams  were  of  a  young 
China  that  was  to  take  the  place  of  the  old — but 
that  died  unborn." 

She  followed  his  words  with  growing  interest.  "  I 
have  heard  of  thosze  dreams,"  she  answered;  "they 
were  called  '  reform.'  " 

"  Yes.  And  now  all  the  dreamers  are  gone.  They 
had  voyaged  to  glean  at  Harvard,  Yale,  Cornell, 


A  Yellow  Man  and  a  White        237 

and  in  the  halls  of  Oxford.  There  were  '  five  loyal 
and  six  learned,'  and  they  shed  their  blood  at  the 
Chen  Chih  Gate.  One  there  was  who  died  the  death 
that  is  meted  a  slave  at  the  court  of  the  Son  of 
Heaven.  And  one  there  was  " — his  face  shrank  up, 
as  if  swiftly  aging;  his  eyes  became  dark,  upturning 
slits ;  as  one  who  fears  pursuit  he  cast  a  look  behind 
him — "  and  one  there  was  who  escaped  beyond  the 
blood-bathed  walls  of  the  Hidden  City  and  gained 
the  Sumatra  Coast.  Then,  leaving  Perak,  in  the 
Straits  Settlements,  he  finally  set  foot  upon  a  shore 
where  men,  without  terror,  may  reach  toward  higher 
things." 

"And  was  he  followed?"  she  whispered,  compre 
hending. 

"  He  fled  quietly,  quietly.  For  long  are  the  claws 
of  the  she-panther  that  is  crouched  on  the  throne 
of  the  Mings." 

Both  fell  silent.  The  Chinese  went  back  to  the 
stove,  where  the  fire  was  dying.  The  white  woman, 
wide  awake,  and  lost  in  the  myriad  of  scenes  his  tale 
had  conjured,  sat  by  the  table,  for  once  almost  for 
getful  of  her  charge. 

The  dragging  hours  of  darkness  past,  Anthony 
Barrett  found  sane  consciousness.  He  was  pale, 
yet  strengthened  by  his  long  sleep,  and  he  was  hun 
gry.  Relieved  and  overjoyed,  Mrs.  Barrett  minis 
tered  to  him.  When  he  had  eaten  and  drunk,  she 
helped  him  from  the  table  to  the  stool,  and  thence 
to  his  feet.  Her  arm  about  him,  she  led  him  to  the 
door.  Fong  Wu  had  felt  his  pulse  and  it  had  ticked 
back  the  desired  message,  so  he  was  going  home. 

"  Each  night  you  are  to  come,"  Fong  Wu  said, 


238  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

as  he  bade  them  good-bye.  "  And  soon,  very  soon, 
you  may  go  from  here  to  the  place  from  which  you 
came." 

Mrs.  Barrett  turned  at  the  door.  A  plea  for  par 
don  in  misjudging  him,  thankfulness  for  his  help, 
sympathy  for  his  exile — all  these  shone  from  her 
eyes.  But  words  failed  her.  She  held  out  her  hand. 

He  seemed  not  to  see  it;  he  kept  his  arms  at  his 
sides.  A  "  dog  of  a  Chinaman  "  had  best  not  take 
a  woman's  hand. 

She  went  out,  guiding  her  husband's  footsteps, 
and  helped  him  climb  upon  the  mustang  from  the 
height  of  the  narrow  porch.  Then,  taking  the  horse 
by  the  bridle,  she  moved  away  down  the  slope  to  the 
road. 

Fong  Wu  did  not  follow,  but  closed  the  door  gen 
tly  and  went  back  to  the  ironing  table.  A  hand 
kerchief  lay  beside  it — a  dainty  linen  square  that  she 
had  left.  He  picked  it  up  and  held  it  before  him 
by  two  corners.  From  it  there  wafted  a  faint,  sweet 
breath. 

Fong  Wu  let  it  flutter  to  the  floor.  "  The  per 
fume  of  a  plum  petal,"  he  said  softly,  in  English; 
"  the  perfume  of  a  plum  petal." 


YEE    WING,   POWDER-MAN 

"W     TTEE  CHU,  wife  of  Yee  Wing,  sank  low  be- 

^L/      fore  her  husband,  resting  her  clasped  hands 

M          upon    a    knee.     "  Surely,    Kwan-yin,    the 

Merciful,  has  thought  me  deserving,"  she 

said,  "  for  she  has  set  me  down  in  a  place  where  soft 

winds  blow  unceasingly." 

The  Powder-man  glanced  out  of  the  one  window 
of  their  little  home,  past  the  pot  of  ragged  chrysan 
themums  and  the  white-and-brown  pug  that  held  the 
sill.  "  I  shall  burn  an  offering  to  her,"  he  promised 
gravely. 

"  It  is  so  sweetly  warm,"  she  continued,  rising  and 
standing  at  his  side ;  "  though  the  new  year  is  al 
most  upon  us.  See,  I  have  put  off  the  band  of  vel 
vet  that  I  wear  upon  my  head  of  a  winter,  and 
changed  to  these  flower-bouquets.  Esteemed,  will  it 
always  be  spring-time  here?  " 

Yee  Wing's  face  lost  its  expression  of  studied  in 
difference.  He  let  his  look  rest  upon  her  hair,  blue- 
black,  and  held  at  each  side  by  a  cluster  of  mock 
jewels;  let  it  travel  down  to  the  young  face, — a 
clear,  polished  white  except  for  deep-carmine  touches 
on  cheeks  and  eyelids  and  on  the  lower  lip  of  the 
pouting  mouth — to  the  brown  eyes,  whose  charm  was 
enhanced  by  a  curious  little  wrinkle  just  above  the 
darkened  brows,  a  petulant  little  wrinkle  that 
changed  with  each  passing  thought. 

239 


240  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Assuredly,"  he  answered.  "  In  California,  it  is 
always  spring-time,  Jasmine  Blossom." 

Again  she  sank,  bracelets  clinking  as  her  fingers 
met.  "  Just  so  it  is  for  a  good  while  each  year  on 
the  hills  of  Hupeh,  where  dwell  my  illustrious  pocket 
parents.  From  our  hut,  during  the  sunny  days,  we 
looked  across  the  tea  fields  upon  groves  of  bamboo, 
feather-topped,  and  rocking  gently." 

She  stumped  to  the  open  door,  balancing  herself 
with  partly  outstretched  arms.  "  Am  I  free  to  go 
forth  to-day  as  yesterday?"  she  inquired  over  a 
shoulder.  "  The  green  invites,  and  there  be  some 
beautiful  plants  yonder,  red  as  the  face  of  the  god 
of  war.  I  can  fill  the  pottery  jar." 

"  Go,"  he  bade,  "  but  not  over  far,  lest  you  tire 
the  two  lilies  of  gold." 

She  smiled  back  at  him  tenderly.  "  I  spend  my 
heart  upon  you,"  she  said  in  farewell,  and  went 
balancing  away. 

Yee  Wing  watched  her  difficult  progress  across 
the  grassy  level  that  divided  the  powder-house  and 
his  own  habitation  from  Sather,  the  solitary  little 
railway  station  of  the  near-by  line.  "  She  has 
brought  tranquillity,"  he  murmured,  "  Where  now 
are  the  five  causes  of  disquietude?  "  And  he,  too, 
smiled  tenderly. 

The  week  that  followed,  which  was  only  the  sec 
ond  of  the  girl-wife's  residence  in  the  new  land,  found 
the  two  supremely  happy.  They  had  no  visitors 
other  than  the  superintendent  from  the  works  at 
Pinole,  and  an  expressman  from  Oakland,  bearing  an 
order  for  a  keg  of  explosive.  Yee  Wing  enjoyed 
abundant  leisure,  and  he  spent  it  with  his  bride. 


Yee  Wing,  Powder-Man  241 

They  puttered  together  about  the  dove-cotes  behind 
the  square,  black  magazines ;  they  shared  the  simple 
cares  of  their  single  room ;  in  a  comradeship  as 
strange  to  their  kind  as  was  the  civilisation  in  which 
they  had  come  to  live;  they  sallied  forth  like  two 
children,  gathering  the  fragrant  peony,  pursuing 
the  first  butterflies. 

But  one  morning  there  arrived  a  man  of  their  own 
race.  Yee  Wing  was  lolling  upon  a  bench,  playing 
with  the  white-and-brown  pug.  Yee  Chu,  in  purple 
trousers  and  cherry-hued  jacket,  was  sitting  upon  a 
stool,  the  gay,  tinsel  rosettes  over  each  tiny  ear 
bobbing  merrily  as  she  finished  a  careful  toilet.  The 
white  paste  had  been  put  on  face  and  throat  and 
carefully  smoothed.  Now  she  was  dyeing  her  long 
nails  and  rouging  her  palms.  Of  a  sudden,  a  shadow 
fell  across  the  doorway.  The  two  looked  up.  Out 
side,  staring  in,  was  a  Chinese,  his  round,  black, 
highbinder  hat,  silk  blouse  and  dark-blue  broad 
cloth  breeches  proclaiming  him  above  the  coolie 
class. 

"  Stay  within,"  cautioned  the  Powder-man,  in  a 
low  voice.  He  went  out  hastily,  and  closed  the  door 
after  him. 

There  passed  between  Yee  Wing  and  his  caller 
none  of  the  elaborate  greetings  that  mark  the  meet 
ing  of  two  equals.  The  strange  Chinese  gave  the 
other  a  proud  nod  of  the  kind  that  is  fit  for  a  for 
eign  devil,  and,  with  no  evasiveness  and  something 
of  the  bluntness  that  characterises  the  despised  white, 
at  once  stated  his  errand. 

"  I  come  from  the  most  worthy  Bazarman,  to 
whom  you  stand  in  debt  to  the  measure  of  twenty- 


242  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

five  dollars,"  he  began.  "I  have  to  remind  you 
that  to-morrow  is  New  Year's  day.  And  for  you 
the  sun  does  not  rise  unless  the  sum  be  paid." 

Yee  Wing  drew  a  startled  breath.  True,  to-mor 
row  would  be  New  Year's  Day!  How  had  it  come 
so  near  without  his  knowing?  It  found  him  with 
out  what  was  due.  His  very  "  face  " — that  preci 
ous  thing,  appearance — was  threatened! 

"  I  am  from  the  South  of  the  Heavenly  Empire," 
he  made  haste  to  answer,  catching,  as  it  were,  at 
a  saving  device.  "  I  am  a  son  of  Tang,  therefore. 
Now,  with  us,  there  is  a  custom " 

Without  explaining  further,  he  took  hold  of  a 
wooden  button  upon  his  cotton  blouse  and  pulled  it 
loose.  Then,  with  profound  courtesy,  he  tendered  it 
to  the  Collector  of  Monies. 

The  latter  received  it  with  a  courtesy  that  was 
feigned,  withdrawing  a  covert  glance  from  the  partly 
screened  window.  "  A  son  of  Tang,"  he  repeated. 
"  There  be  rich  men  in  the  South.  Now,  perhaps 
your  honoured  father — "  He  paused  inquiringly. 

Yee  Wing  understood.  In  the  land  of  the  Son 
of  Heaven,  a  father  is  held  strictly  responsible  for 
the  obligations  of  a  son.  But — the  province  of 
Kwangtung  was  far. 

"  My  poor  but  excellent  father  was  only  a  dealer 
in  salt,"  he  said  gravely.  "  His  mound  is  upon  a 
desolate  stretch  beside  the  Yang-tse."  To  save  any 
questions  concerning  other  male  members  of  the 
family, — who  also  might  be  held  accountable — he 
added,  "  I  alone  survive  to  feed  and  clothe  his  spirit 
continuously." 

A  baleful  light  shone  in  the  slant,  searching  eyes, 


Yee  Wing,  Powder-Man  243 

but  the  words  of  the  Collector  of  Monies  were  gra 
cious  enough.  "  Filial  piety,"  he  observed,  "  has 
first  place  among  the  virtues."  Then,  with  pomp 
ous  deprecation,  "  My  humble  parent  is  but  a  koti- 
ang-fou  in  the  Customs  Service  of  Shanghai." 

Yee  Wing  lowered  his  own  look  in  becoming  defer 
ence.  The  son  of  a  civil  officer  carries  power. 

The  stranger  now  gave  a  second  nod  and  moved 
away, — not,  however,  without  again  peering  through 
the  window;  and  soon,  seated  on  the  dummy  of  an 
electric  car,  he  was  spinning  out  of  sight  in  the  di 
rection  of  Fruitvale. 

Yee  Wing  watched  him  go,  then  hastily  entered 
the  house.  Fireworks,  for  the  frightening  away  of 
evil  spirits,  might  not  be  exploded  near  the  powder. 
So  he  sought  for  a  tiny  gong  and  beat  it  roundly. 

"  I  like  not  that  man's  countenance,"  he  told  Yee 
Chu.  "  Did  you  note  how  he  spied  upon  the  place? 
He  is  of  the  sort  that  would  steal  food  like  a 
dog." 

Saying  which,  the  Powder-man  beat  his  gong 
more  loudly  than  before,  and  burned  at  the  entrance 
to  his  home  handful  upon  handful  of  propitiatory 
paper. 

Tau  Lot,  Bazar-man,  sat  behind  a  little  counter 
of  polished  ebony.  His  were  the  calm,  unmoved — 
and  fat — face  and  the  quick,  shifting  eye  of  the 
born  speculator;  his,  the  smooth,  long-nailed  hands 
that  do  no  labor,  and  that  were  now  toying  with 
one  of  the  Nine  Classics.  On  his  head  rested  a 
tasseled  cap.  His  jacket  was  of  Shang-tung  silk, 
dyed  purple.  His  breeches  were  of  dark  crape,  tied 


244  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

down  upon  socks  spotlessly  white.  The  shoes  that 
rested  upon  the  middle  rung  of  his  stool  were  of 
velvet  and  embroidered. 

The  Dupont  street  shop  was  small,  but  it  held  a 
bewildering  mass  of  merchandise.  Silk  rolls,  mat 
ting,  bronzes,  porcelain,  brass,  carved  furniture,  lac 
quered  ware,  Chinese  fans  made  in  Japan,  imported 
purses  worked  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  store, 
devil  masks,  dolls  and  gowns — gowns  of  brocade; 
gowns  of  plain  silk,  quilted  in  finest  lines  and  her 
ring-bone  rays  and  bordered  with  figured-ribbon 
bands  ;  gowns  of  embroidered  satin, — mulberry-red 
wrought  with  sprigs  and  circles  of  flowers,  green, 
with  gold  thread  tracings,  black,  with  silver  cranes 
winging  across.  Yet  though  the  store  was  small, 
and  choked  to  the  lantern-hung  ceiling,  the  clerks 
were  many.  Some  were  ranged  behind  the  row  of 
shining  glass  cases,  others  lounged  in  a  group  near 
the  rear  room  entrance.  There  were  honourable 
younger  brothers  here,  and  honourable  cousins,  but 
not  one  of  a  different  blood.  For  Tau  Lot  thought 
well  of  the  ancient  proverb :  When  the  fire  is  lighted, 
all  the  family  should  be  kept  warm. 

Outside  the  bazar  was  the  tall,  upright  beckon- 
ing-board  with  its  heavy  gold  characters  on  a  ver 
milion  ground.  A  Chinese  now  halted  beside  it,  and 
glanced  casually  up  and  down  the  street.  Then  he 
came  through  the  door,  examining  a  box  of  sandal- 
wood  just  within  the  entrance,  leaning  over  some 
silk  handkerchiefs  at  the  counter-end.  Presently  he 
advanced  to  the  ebony  counter. 

"  Your  trifling  servant  salutes  you,  Illustrious," 
he  said. 


Yee  Wing,  Powder-Man  245 

The  Bazar-man  scowled.  Two  hours  had  he  given 
up  to  business — two  hours  of  the  three  spent  so 
daily.  Soon  he  would  return  to  the  dreams  and 
sleep  of  the  enslaving  pipe.  And  what  babble  had 
Chow  Loo  to  say? 

"  Welcome,"  he  returned.  "  Too  long  you  have 
deprived  me  of  your  instructive  speech." 

"  My  speech  is  but  a  breath  in  my  neighbour's 
face.  Will  the  Most  Noble  not  lighten  the  hour  with 
his  voice?  " 

A  party  of  women  tourists  came  crowding  in  at 
that  moment,  picking  at  everything  not  under  cover, 
pulling  at  the  hanging  gowns  on  the  wall,  stretch 
ing  to  see  what  was  behind  the  cases.  Tau  Lot 
looked  them  over, — there  were  five — mentally  tag 
ging  them  with  price-marks.  The  old  woman  was 
not  worth  her  keep,  the  next  younger  little  more, 
the  two  thin  ones  perhaps  four  hundred ." 

"  But  the  round  one,"  said  Chow  Loo,  keen  to  see 
what  the  Bazar-man  was  thinking. 

"  Eight  hundred,  truly,"  and  the  tasselled  cap  was 
gravely  wagged. 

"  So  I  think,  though  her  feet  be  as  big  as  the 
feet  of  a  Tartar  woman."  They  surveyed  the  at 
tractive  young  lady  with  the  judgment  of  merchants 
both. 

"  It  nears  the  time  for  my  going,"  said  Tau  Lot, 
his  Oriental  dislike  of  coming  to  the  point  in  business 
overweighed  by  the  dread  of  wasting  time  that  be 
longed  to  the  pipe.  "  So  what  of  the  collect  to 
day?  " 

Chow  Loo  ran  a  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his  blue 
broadcloth  breeches.  "  From  Berkeley,  where  I  led 


246  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

my  contemptible  way,  eighteen  dollars, — so  much 
owed  the  washer  of  clothes.  From  Oakland,  six,  and 
the  vender  of  vegetables  sends  his  lowly  greeting. 
But  the  Powder-man  at  Sather  was  as  naked  of  coin 
as  a  robber.  See — here  is  only  a  button  from  his 
coat!" 

"  The  debt  is  owed  since  the  Ninth  Moon." 

"  So  I  said — Yes,  the  round  one  would  be  worth 
fully  eight  hundred."  The  attractive  young  lady 
had  come  closer,  anxious  for  a  near  view  of  the 
Bazar-man.  A  clerk  accompanied  her,  advancing  at 
the  farther  side  of  the  counter  as  she  advanced,  but 
taking  no  trouble  to  display  his  wares. 

"  So  I  said,"  repeated  the  Collector  of  Monies. 
Then,  with  a  meaning  glance  at  the  Bazar-man,  for 
an  honourable  younger  brother  was  at  the  latter's 
elbow.  "  But  though  he  is  so  miserably  poor,  he 
grows  a  rose, — one  more  beautiful  than  a  man  of 
his  rank  should  have.  In  your  crowded  garden  is 
there  room  for  another  such?  " 

Instantly,  Tau  Lot's  slant  eyes  narrowed  in  their 
slits,  his  ponderous  body  lost  its  attitude  of  indo 
lence.  He  stepped  down  from  his  stool  with  alacrity. 
"  You  will  have  a  taste  of  steamed  rice,"  he  said, 
"  — rice  savoured  with  salt  fish — and  a  cup  of  hot 
gamschu  at  my  despicable  board."  And  he  led  the 
way  to  the  rear  room. 

The  Collector  of  Monies  followed,  and  the  two 
seated  themselves  at  a  table,  where  a  servant  brought 
food  and  rice-wine.  And  here,  nose  to  nose,  they 
chattered  low,  gesticulated,  haggled. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Sather?  "  asked  the  Bazar-man. 

"  Near  to  thirty  li.     One  can  reach  there  in  an 


Yee  Wing,  Powder-Man  247 

hour."  The  Collector  of  Monies  proudly  displayed 
a  large,  nickel-plated  watch. 

"  But  still — the  price  is  too  high." 

"  O  Magnificent  One !  for  a  little- foot  woman  ? 
Her  dowry  was  at  the  lowest  fifty  taels.  Doubtless, 
that  was  what  beggared  him.  She  is  truly  a  picked 
beauty,  a  very  pearl." 

"  It  is  settled  then.  The  half  will  be  paid  when 
the  rose  is  plucked,  the  second  half  when  the  filthy 
foreign  police  accept  a  commission  and  promise  no 
interference." 

At  sundown,  a  few  days  later,  the  superintendent 
at  Pinole  heard  the  bell  of  his  telephone  summoning 
him.  The  receiver  at  his  ear,  he  caught  the  petu 
lant  "  Well,  wait  a  minnit,  can't  y'  ?  "  of  the  opera 
tor  and,  punctuating  it,  a  weak  gasping,  as  if  some 
one  in  agony  were  at  the  distant  transmitter. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  the  superintendent. 
"  This  is  Bingham." 

The  gasping  ceased.  A  choking  voice  answered 
him :  "  Yee  Wing,  Mista  Bingham.  Say,  my  hab 
got  sick  bludder — oh,  velly  sick.  Must  go  San 
Flancisco  heap  quick.  S'pose  you  likee,  my  can  tell 
olo  Chinaman  flom  Flootvale.  He  come  all  light." 

"  Yes,  old  Wah  Lee,  you  mean."  The  superin 
tendent  knew  it  would  be  useless  to  try  to  learn  the 
real  cause  of  Yee  Wing's  sudden  going  or  to  attempt 
to  stop  him. 

"  Olo  Wah  Lee,"  returned  the  Powder-man, 
eagerly.  "  Say,  Mista  Bingham,  I  come  back  plitty 
soon.  Jessie  now,  I  wanchee  know,  I  no  lose  my 
job?" 


248  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  No,  Wing,  your  job's  safe.  You  attend  to  that 
sick  brother  and  get  back  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  All  light.  Good-bye,"  and  the  receiver  was 
hung  up. 

In  the  morning,  when  the  superintendent  reached 
Sather,  he  found  Wah  Lee  on  guard.  The  old 
Chinese  substitute  was  stretched  upon  an  army  cot 
by  the  dove-cotes,  the  white-and-brown  pug  beside 
him.  Yee  Wing's  little  home  was  locked.  Bingham 
shaded  his  eyes  and  looked  in — upon  the  kitchen, 
dining  and  sleeping  room  in  one.  Cups  and  bowls 
littered  the  table.  Clothing  was  tossed  here  and 
there  upon  the  benches  and  floor.  Each  drawer  of 
a  high  case  against  the  farthest  wall  had  been  jerked 
out  and  not  replaced. 

"  Something's  up,"  muttered  the  superintendent. 
"  Well,  I  knew  there' d  be  trouble  when  that  pretty 
little  wife  came.  Wah  Lee,  what's  the  matter  with 
Yee  Wing?  " 

"  No  sabe,"  declared  the  old  man,  and  to  every 
suggestion  returned  the  same  reply. 

That  day,  and  the  six  that  followed,  found  Yee 
Wing  in  San  Francisco,  where  he  walked  Chinatown 
continuously, — watching,  watching,  watching.  And 
as  he  travelled,  he  kept  his  right  hand  tucked  in  his 
wide  left  sleeve,  his  left  hand  tucked  in  the  right 
one. 

His  way  led  him  always  through  squalid  alleys; 
narrow,  dark  alleys,  where  there  were  no  shops,  and 
no  coolies  going  by  with  heavy  baskets  swinging 
from  their  carrying-poles;  but  where,  from  tiny, 
barred  windows,  the  faces  of  young  Chinese  girls 
looked  out — ivory-yellow  faces,  wondering,  wistful. 


Yee  Wing,  Powder-Man  249 

Before  them,  passing  and  repassing,  his  own  face 
upturned,  went  Yee  Wing. 

The  slave  women  gazed  down  at  him  with  little 
interest,  their  dull  eyes,  their  sullen  mouths,  be 
speaking  the  spirit  that  is  broken  but  still  resent 
ful.  He  could  not  call  to  them,  could  not  question, 
for  among  them  was  surely  a  spy.  He  could  only 
pass  and  repass.  Then,  to  another  dark  alley,  with 
the  same  barred  windows,  the  same  wistful  faces. 
Enter  one  of  these  places,  he  dared  not,  if  he  hoped 
to  live  to  save  her.  The  Sam-sings  guarding  the 
slave  trade — those  quick- working  knife-men  who  are 
as  quick  to  get  away  from  the  "  foreign  devils," 
police — had  her  under  guard.  He  must  find  out 
where  they  were  keeping  her — then  match  their  cun 
ning  with  his  own. 

When  the  little  money  he  had  was  exhausted,  he 
visited  a  relative — visited  him  secretly,  toward  dawn 
of  a  morning  thick  with  fog.  For  anyone  who  helped 
him,  if  it  were  known,  would  suffer  swift  and  certain 
punishment.  Here  he  replenished  his  pocket.  Then, 
off  again.  He  ate  seldom  and  sparingly,  he  slept 
only  in  snatches,  hidden  away  under  steps  or  in  a 
big,  empty  dry-goods  box  down  in  the  wholesale 
section. 

The  end  of  that  week  saw  him  rattling  through 
Burlingame  and  Palo  Alto  on  his  way  to  San  Jose. 
There,  in  the  "  Garden  City,"  three  days  were  spent 
in  wralking  and  watching.  Then,  on  to  Sacramento, 
where,  half-starved,  he  stumbled  out  of  the  great, 
roofed  station,  and  made  toward  the  Chinese  quarter. 
Finally,  he  proceeded  north  to  Portland. 

One  cold  night,  a  fortnight  after  Yee  Chu's  dis- 


250  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

appearance,  he  reached  San  Francisco  once  more. 
It  had  rained  in  the  north,  and  his  cloth  sandals 
were  pulpy,  his  wadded,  cotton  coat  was  soaked.  His 
head  was  unshaven,  too,  his  queue  unkempt  from 
long  neglect.  He  was  sallow  and  green-hued. 

But  there  was  no  surrender  in  the  blood-shot  eyes. 
He  began  again  to  haunt  the  streets  of  Chinatown. 
And,  late  one  night,  in  Waverly  Place,  under  a  blow 
ing  street-lamp,  he  met  one  of  the  two  he  sought; 
he  came  face  to  face  with  the  Collector  of  Monies. 

Yee  Wing's  right  hand  was  tucked  in  his  left 
sleeve,  his  left  hand  in  the  right  one.  The  Collector 
of  Monies  had  reached  to  a  hind  pocket  of  the  blue 
broadcloth  trousers.  But  across  the  grimy  court, 
in  the  light  of  a  second  lamp,  a  uniformed  figure 
was  idling  and  swinging  a  heavy  club  to  and  fro 
on  a  thong.  His  eye  was  upon  them. 

They  stopped  short,  each  alert.  The  face  of  the 
Collector  of  Monies  was  placid,  though  he  marked 
the  bulging  sleeves  of  the  Powder-man.  Yee  Wing 
was,  outwardly,  calm  too.  But  his  thin  upper  lip, 
upon  which  grew  a  few  straggling  hairs,  twitched 
uncontrollably. 

"  Where  is  she  hidden  ?     he  demanded. 

The  other  snorted.  "  She  is  worth  little,"  he 
said  by  way  of  answer.  "  She  weeps  too  much." 

The  bulge  within  the  sleeves  moved.  Yee  Wing 
would  have  slain  then, — but  what  help  could  he  give 
her  from  a  cell  of  the  city  prison?  He  kept  him 
self  in  control. 

"  The  Supreme  Lord  of  Heaven,"  he  said,  "  pities 
even  the  mothers  of  thieves  and  harlots.  He  will 
pity  her,  though  she  be  defiled.  But  you — you — 


Tee  Wing,  Powder-Man  251 

vile  scurf  of  lepers — shall  die  by  a  thousand 
cuts." 

The  uniformed  figure  stepped  toward  them.  At 
this,  the  Collector  of  Monies  took  his  leave,  backing 
away  from  Yee  Wing  with  such  ceremony  that  his 
face  was  still  presented  when  a  corner  was  passed. 

Blind  with  rage  and  grief,  the  Powder-man  all 
unconsciously  made  his  way  to  Commercial  street. 
There,  in  front  of  a  poultry  store,  he  dropped  down 
to  a  seat  on  the  curb's  edge.  She  was  in  San  Fran 
cisco  !  And  he  was  so  contemptibly  weak  that  the 
slave  society — the  despised  hoey — did  not  even  take 
the  pains  to  deny  it  to  him;  even  mocked  him  with 
her  weeping!  His  Jasmine  Blossom! 

His  ear  was  caught  by  the  sound  of  a  petulant 
squealing.  Across  the  street  was  a  Chinese,  writhing 
against  the  iron  door  of  a  well-lighted  building. 
For  all  the  distance,  Yee  Wing  could  see  that  his 
face  was  ghastly.  With  a  twist  of  the  body,  the 
Powder-man  struggled  up.  Here,  to  his  hand,  was 
a  key  with  which  he  could  unlock  the  way ! 

He  hurried  over  and,  as  the  squirming,  loose- 
jointed  figure  lurched  violently  to  one  side,  righted 
it  firmly.  Then,  supporting  the  stranger,  directed 
their  course  from  that  thoroughfare  to  another. 

Presently,  the  pair  entered  a  shop.  It  was  one 
of  the  manufacturing  variety,  being  filled  with  sew 
ing-machines  before  which — though  the  night  was 
far  advanced — sat  their  busy  operators,  at  work 
upon  loose,  lacey  garments  of  silk  and  muslin.  Yee 
Wing  and  his  charge  passed  through  this  outer  room 
and  into  a  small,  darkened  one  behind. 

After  a  short  stay,  they  came  forth  again,  the 


252  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

Powder-man  leading.  An  incredible  change  had 
come  over  the  strange  Chinese.  His  eyes  were  wide 
and  lustrous,  he  stepped  alertly.  The  two,  going 
single  file,  after  the  manner  of  the  Oriental,  left  the 
shop  and  walked  rapidly  to  a  near-by  square.  There, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  shaft  of  the  Golden  Ship,  they 
sat  down,  side  by  side. 

"  This  is  my  desire,"  began  Yee  Wing,  "  — you 
shall  find  for  me  a  certain  woman."  And  here,  with 
the  indifference,  apparently,  of  a  dealer  in  flesh,  he 
described  Yee  Chu.  "  You  can  not  mistake  her," 
he  declared.  "  When  your  work  is  finished,  leave 
word  for  me  with  the  garment-maker  that  the  wooden 
candle-stick  is  mended.  Meanwhile,  he  will  serve 
your  needs." 

Three  days,  and  the  message  of  the  mended  candle 
stick  was  left.  That  night,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
monument,  the  opium  fiend  disclosed  to  Yee  Wing 
the  prison  place  of  his  wife. 

The  Powder-man  took  his  hands  from  his  wide 
sleeves.  Then,  on  swift  foot,  he  made  off  to  the 
great,  stone  yamen  of  the  police. 

"  Plenty  piecee  bad  man  hab  got  my  wife,"  he 
told  the  head  man. 

"  Chinks?"  asked  the  "  foreign  devil." 

"  Yessee." 

"Then  w'y  doan  yez  jerk  out  their  pigtails?" 
the  other  demanded, — but  not  unkindly,  for  the  thin 
face  and  the  strained  eyes  made  him  conscious  of 
something  like  pity. 

Yee  Wing  told  his  story,  in  the  best  pidgin-Eng 
lish  he  could  command. 

That  same  night,  a  gong-wagon  came  rattling  its 


Yee  Wing,  Powder-Man  253 

way  into  Chinatown.  The  Sam  Sings  who  lounged 
at  corners  here  and  there  watched  its  progress  with 
unconcern.  The  wagon  was  an  hourly  visitor,  since 
here,  hutched  with  the  careless  Oriental,  and  out  of 
the  sight  of  the  clean,  was  the  city's  scum — criminal 
and  unfortunate  together. 

But  all  of  a  sudden  there  was  the  sound  of 
sandalled  feet  on  the  run,  for  the  out-post  men  were 
scattering  to  cover.  The  patrol  had  turned  into  a 
certain  squalid  alley,  had  stopped  before  a  certain 
door,  above  which — black  Chinese  characters  on  a 
scarlet  ground — was  pasted  the  legend : 


THE  MOONLIGHT   RESTS  IN  WHITE 


PURITY    UPON    THE    GARDEN    OF    ROSES 


And  out  of  the  patrol,  axe  and  pistol  in  hand, 
had  tumbled  a  half-dozen  stalwart  officers, — after 
them,  Yee  Wing. 

There  were  shrill,  warning  cries  from  the  street. 
Shriller  cries — the  cries  of  panic-stricken  women — 
answered  from  the  tiny,  barred  windows  above  the 
entrance  door.  Then,  interspersed  with  lusty  Celtic 
commands,  sounded  the  ring  of  the  axe. 

One,  two,  three  minutes — and  the  bluecoats  burst 
their  way  through  the  bolted  doors  and  into  the 
main  room  of  the  den.  Under  them,  over  them,  on 
either  hand,  they  caught  the  noise  of  hurried  flight, 
a  frightened  rat-like  scurrying.  Before  them  was  a 


254  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

room  dim-lit  and  heavy  with  the  odour  of  opium 
and  incense.  Dirty  cushions  were  thrown  about. 
Stools  and  tables  were  overturned.  To  one  side 
lay  a  three-stringed  banjo.  The  occupants  had 
fled. 

Not  all.  Past  the  cluster  of  white  men  sprang 
Yee  Wing,  across  the  dark  room,  to  a  little  huddled 
heap  on  the  floor  beyond.  It  was  she,  still  wearing 
the  loose,  purple  trousers  and  the  cherry-hued 
jacket.  Upon  the  jacket,  circling  a  bony  handle 
thrust  upright,  was  a  growing  stain — deeper  than 
cherry  hue. 

The  officers  rushed  on,  doubly  eager  to  track,  now 
that  there  had  been  a  murder.  One  stayed  a  mo 
ment  and  would  have  drawn  the  weapon  from  Yee 
Chu's  breast,  but  Yee  Wing  would  not  let  him.  With 
it  would  go  out  the  last  spark  of  life. 

Alone  together,  the  Powder-man  did  not  sink  be 
side  his  wife.  His  face  did  not  show  either  grief  or 
anger.  He  only  looked  at  her,  his  hands  hanging 
loosely  at  his  sides. 

Her  eyes  opened,  she  saw  him,  and  smiled  faintly. 
"  Esteemed,"  she  whispered,  "  Esteemed,  it  is  the 
time  of  the  tea-harvest !  " 

He  knew  that  she  was  thinking  of  the  hills  of 
Hupeh.  "  Ah,  Jasmine  Blossom,"  he  answered, 
"  graceful  as  a  leaf  and  as  sweetly  scented." 

She  smiled  again.  "  Possessor  of  All  the  Virtues," 
• — her  voice  was  so  low  he  could  scarcely  hear — "  but 
I  am  heavily  sick.  Forgive  me  that  I  can  not  live 
to  be  the  mother  of  your  first-born."  And,  with 
that,  her  eyelids  drooped. 

They   came    back    into    the    room   then,    empty- 


Yee  Wing,  Powder-Man  255 

handed.      Quietly,   sadly,   they  gathered   about   the 
two. 

Yee  Wing  looked  around  the  circle.  He  spoke  no 
word,  but  there  was  a  terrible  light  in  his  blood-shot 
eyes.  Then,  he  turned  about  and  went  down  the 
stairway.  Again,  his  right  hand  was  in  his  wide  left 
sleeve,  his  left  hand  in  the  right  one. 

The  Collector  of  Monies,  making  leisurely  toward 
his  favourite  barber-shop,  was  conscious  of  a  figure 
r — almost  a  shadow,  so  uncertain  was  it — that  ap 
peared  and  disappeared  behind  him.  He  stopped 
every  few  feet  to  look  over  his  shoulder.  But, 
through  the  ever  moving  procession  of  the  pavement, 
he  could  see  no  one  that  seemed  to  be  following. 

At  the  barber-shop,  he  took  a  stool  lazily.  First, 
a  square  napkin  dipped  in  hot  water  freshened  face 
and  palms ;  next,  a  few  hairs  were  pulled  from  his 
jowl,  'and  the  ear-spoon  was  wielded.  Then  he  com 
posed  himself  for  a  head-shave.  The  razoring  be 
gun,  he  watched  a  group  of  gaudily  dressed  chil 
dren,  shouting  and  gamboling  before  the  door,  and 
as  he  watched  he  fingered  a  long-stemmed  pipe, 
caressing  its  ivory  mouthpiece  with  his  lips. 

Of  a  sudden,  through  the  group  of  children,  to 
the  great  brass  bowl  at  the  shop  entrance,  came  a 
figure.  Its  dress  was  ragged  and  dirty,  its  queue 
unkempt.  Its  right  hand  was  thrust  in  a  wide  left 
sleeve,  the  left  hand  in  the  right  one. 

As  Chow  Loo  looked,  the  right  hand  was  drawn 
from  the  sleeve  and  extended  toward  him.  Between 
two  bloodshot  eyes  was  the  black  bore  of  a  revolver. 

Careless   of  the  razor,  he  sprang  up,   the  keen 


256  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

blade  taking  him  in   the  scalp.        But  even   as   he 
leaped    came  the  bullet — straight  to  the  mark. 

A  hue  and  cry  arose,  there  was  a  great  running, 
and  gathering,  a  medley  of  questions,  a  medley  of 
answers,  the  jostling  and  the  commands  of  uni 
formed  "  foreign  devils."  Chow  Loo  tottered  for 
ward,  and  dropped  beside  the  great  brass  bowl.  And 
there,  gazing  fixedly  up  at  a  lantern  that  was  swing 
ing  gently  to  and  fro  above  the  door,  the  life  of  the 
Collector  of  Monies  went  out  of  him. 

When  Yee  Wing  arrived  at  Sather,  he  found 
Wah  Lee  lying  in  a  strip  of  shade  behind  the  dove 
cotes.  The  old  man  got  up  at  once,  relinquished  a 
key,  folded  a  few  belongings  into  a  handkerchief  and 
departed  down  the  road  to  Fruitvale. 

The  Powder-man  looked  dumbly  about  him,  at  the 
little  home,  the  black-walled  magazine,  the  grassy 
level  surrounding.  Upon  the  green,  the  dark-red 
peonies  were  nodding;  across  it  fared  the  butter 
flies. 

For  a  long  time,  he  stood.  Then,  slowly,  he  went 
apart  and  sat  down  in  a  place  where  he  could  com 
mand  every  approach.  Here,  hour  by  hour,  he 
stayed — waiting.  Twilight  came  on.  He  arose,  ap 
proached  the  door  of  his  little  home,  unlocked  it,  and 
entered.  A  silken  garment  lay  close  to  the  sill.  He 
took  it  up,  smoothing  it  with  a  gentle  hand.  At 
last,  he  laid  it  down.  His  eye  rested  upon  a  photo 
graph  that  lay  among  the  cups  and  bowls  on  the 
table.  He  lifted  it  tenderly,  carried  it  to  the  chest 
of  drawers  and  set  it  upon  end.  Before  it,  in  a 
bronze  cup  of  ashes,  he  put  a  lighted  incense  stick. 


Yee  Wing,  Powder-Man  257 

He  leaned  against  the  drawer  chest,  his  forehead 
upon  a  hand.  "  Mother  of  the  unborn  that  were  to 
worship  my  bones !  "  he  faltered. 

By  now,  the  twilight  had  deepened  into  night. 
Down  the  highway  leading  to  Fruitvale,  he  heard 
the  barking  of  a  dog.  He  stole  to  the  window  and 
sat  down,  a  revolver  upon  his  knee. 

The  dog  quieted.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed. 
Then,  from  the  other  side,  toward  Haywards,  a  sec- 
ond  barking.  He  stepped  outside,  keeping  close  to 
the  house.  Behind  it,  among  the  dove-cotes,  he 
halted,  peering  to  every  side. 

A  space  of  time  went  by.  Then,  across  the  level 
from  the  railway,  three  shadows  ! 

Yee  Wing  sank  down  and  crept  noiselessly  to  the 
door  of  the  magazine,  opened  it,  and  stood  just  with 
in  the  black  entrance. 

The  three  shadows  were  nearer  now,  but  motion 
less. 

Yee  Wing  called  out :  "  Come,  honourable  broth 
ers,  come.  Why  wait  you  yonder?  " 

The  shadows  moved,  but  there  was  no  answer. 
They  separated.  One  came  forward  under  cover  of 
the  house ;  one  turned  to  the  right ;  one  to  the  left. 

"  Come,  brothers,  come,"  called  Yee  Wing,  again. 
His  voice  was  light  and  mocking.  "  The  spoil  is 
large.  You  shall  take  all  my  possessions  with  you 
—this  time." 

The  three  stopped  short.  Then,  as  one,  they 
turned,  fleeing. 

Too  late !  Yee  Wing  stepped  back  into  the  mag 
azine — a  match  sputtered  up 

The  night  was  split  by  a  great  burst  of  thunder. 


258  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

It  went  resounding1  across  the  salt  flats  to  Alameda, 
across  the  bay  to  the  City  beside  the  Gate,  it  was 
beaten  back  by  the  brown  Piedmont  hills.  &nd  with 
it,  as  the  earth  quaked  to  the  sound,  the  souls  of 
three  Sam  Sings,  and  of  Yee  Wing,  Powder-man, 
went  forth  to  join  the  souls  of  their  ancestors. 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  THE  SPRING 

MR.  EDWARD  HEATON,  sir." 
Austin  Knowles,  sitting  alone  over  his 
coffee  and  paper,  put  down  his  cup  and 
leaned    back,    an    expression    of    pleased 
surprise  lighting  his  grave  face.     "Oh, — ask  Mr. 
Heaton  to  come  in  here,"  he  said. 

A  moment,  and  the  servant  ushered  in  a  young 
man  whose  manner,  frank  and  boyishly  eager  at  the 
threshold,  at  once  became,  on  catching  sight  of  the 
other,  more  subdued,  even  somewhat  solicitous. 

The  elder  look  up.  "  Well,"  was  his  kindly  greet 
ing,  "  you're  abroad  early.  Take  a  chair.  Every 
thing  all  right  at  the  building,  I  hope." 

"  Yes,  sir, — not  a  vacancy  since  McGinn  &  Mc 
Ginn,  the  attorneys,  leased.  That  was  two  months 
ago."  There  was  a  touch  of  pride  in  Heaton's  an 
swer. 

"  You're  the  best  superintendent  I've  ever  had, 
Ned.  I'm  more  than  satisfied  with  you.  And  as 
long  as  your  good  judgment  about  tenants  seems 
to  have  simplified  your  work  at  the  building,  you 
may  feel  you  can  branch  out  a  little.  You  know 
Sparling  is  leaving  me  the  first  of  the  month." 

"  The  Montgomery  street  property !  "  Heaton's 
face  crimsoned  with  pleasure.  "  Oh,  thank  you, — 
I'd  like  to  try  that." 

"  Well,  we'll  see."     The  elder  man  went  back  to 
259 


260  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

his  coffee,  the  habitual  look  of  gravity  again  set 
tling  upon  his  face. 

Heaton  was  a  full  minute  collecting  himself. 
"  What  I  came  for  this  morning,"  he  began  at  last, 
"  was  a  personal  matter." 

"Yes?" 

"  I  stayed  up  Arroyo  way  over  Sunday.  Mrs. 
George  Thorburn  spoke  of  you,  and  asked  me  to 
bring  you  a  letter  and — and  back  it  up."  He  took 
an  envelope  from  a  pocket,  rose  and  handed  it  across 
the  table.  "  Really,  I  hope  you'll  go."  His  voice 
was  deep  with  earnestness.  He  honoured  Austin 
Knowles, — and  pitied  him;  for  he  knew  how  rare 
had  been  the  other's  devotion  to  the  wife  now  seven 
years  dead,  how  sincere  was  his  mourning  for  her, 
and  how  lonely  was  his  life  in  that  big  stone  house 
on  the  avenue. 

"  I'm  going  up  again  for  the  rest  of  my  vaca 
tion,"  Heaton  continued.  "  And  I'll  look  for  you." 
He  held  out  his  hand. 

The  elder  man  took  it.  "  Perhaps,"  he  said  ab 
sent-mindedly.  And  Heaton  passed  out. 

It  was  a  crested  letter,  perfumed,  and  written  in 
a  large,  modishly  angular  hand. 

Mrs.  Thorburn's  invitation  was  cordial,  even 
pressing.  She  wrote  that  the  hills  were  simply 
lovely  now,  and  that  she  just  knew  her  dear  Mr. 
Knowles  was  awfully  fagged.  So  she  wanted  above 
all  things  that  he  should  have  a  fortnight's  vaca 
tion  at  High  Court.  "Dorothy  will  be  home,"  she 
went  on  to  say,  "  and  some  charming  people  are 
visiting  me.  You  will  find  your  stay  restful,  I  am 
sure,  for  you  shall  do  as  you  choose — except  at  din- 


The  Search  for  the  Spring          261 

ner-time — and  read  or  ride  or  ramble  the  days  away. 
Dear  Mr.  Khowles,  do  come." 

"  Restful  " — his  thoughts  dwelt  upon  that  word. 
He  leaned  back,  covering  his  eyes.  These  seven 
years  he  had  given  himself  no  time  for  anything 
save  work — hard,  persistent  work  that  had  kept  him 
from  despair.  But  it  had  worn  him  down.  His 
face  had  thinned,  his  hair  grown  grey  at  the  tem 
ples,  his  shoulders  rounded,  his  step  bectome  loss 
elastic.  Rest — he  needed  it.  And  "  to  read  or  ride 
or  ramble  "  held  a  promise  of  pleasure  and  recuper 
ation. 

He  lifted  his  head  presently  and  touched  a  bell. 
It  was  answered  by  the  man-servant,  young  and 
soft  of  foot,  who  approached,  as  Heaton  had,  with 
an  air  at  once  respectful  and  anxiously  inquiring. 

"  Did  you  ring,  sir?  " 

"  Yes,  Thomas.  I'm  going  out  of  town  for  a  cou 
ple  of  weeks.  Pack  what  I'll  need — right  off."  A 
moment  ago,  he  had  wavered  over  deciding.  Now, 
of  a  sudden,  and  almost  unaccountably,  as  though 
roused  by  a  sense  of  coming  freedom,  Austin  was  all 
eagerness  to  get  away  from  the  lonely  house,  the 
wearing  office,  the  noisy  town. 

"Will  you  want  me  to  go  with  you,  sir?" 

"  No, — no,  I  think  not.  You  may  have  two  weeks 
for  yourself.  Send  this  wire."  He  scribbled  a  few 
words  hastily,  then  rose. 

"  Mr.  Knowles, — please."  Thomas,  having  re 
ceived  the  telegram,  was  halted  irresolutely  at  the 
door.  "  If  I  may  ask,  sir,  if — if  you'd  object " 

"  What,  Thomas  ?  "  Austin  turned,  smiling  en 
couragement. 


262  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"I'd — I'd — like  to  get  married,  sir,  while  you're 
gone.  I'd  be  settled  and  ready  for  my  duties  when 
you  came  back.  It's  a  young  lady  I've  known  a 
good  while,  sir,  and  we  could  rent  that  little  cottage 
just  back  of  here — the  one  with  the  nasturtiums 
over  the  porch.  Maybe  you  recall  it,  sir." 

The  smile  warmed  into  kindness.  "  Marry?  Why, 
of  course,"  Austin  said  heartily.  "  And,  I  congrat 
ulate  you." 

Thomas  bowed,  fumbling  for  the  knob.  "  Thank 
you,  sir,"  he  said. 

A  next  morning's  train  carried  Austin  Knowles 
out  of  the  city  and  toward  the  line  of  brown-grey 
California  foothills  midway  of  which  was  the  Thor- 
burn  country-place.  He  watched  the  townsj  fields, 
gulches  and  roadways  slip  swiftly  by.  The  towns 
grew  smaller  and  farther  apart  as  the  metropolis 
receded,  the  roadways  roughened,  the  fields  con 
tracted,  the  gulches  deepened,  and  the  line  of  foot 
hills  took  on  a  browner  tinge.  He  raised  a  win 
dow,  and  a  breeze  swept  him,  tugging  at  his  hair 
and  bringing  to  his  nostrils  the  scent  of  curing 
grass.  He  took  a  deep  breath.  He  had  not  had 
a  good  smell  of  the  country  in,  yes,  in  over  seven 
years.  The  last  time,  he  and  Barbara 

The  old  pain  gripped  him,  stinging  his  eyes  and 
paining  his  throat.  His  hand  slipped  into  a  vest- 
pocket  and  drew  forth  a  small,  round,  closed  locket, 
on  one  side  of  which,  chased  delicately,  was  a  lily, 
upheld  between  two  leaves ;  on  the  opposite,  an  A 
and  a  B,  intertwined.  He  opened  it,  held  it  close  in 
a  palm,  and  looked  tenderly  upon  the  pictured  face, 


The  Search  for  the  Spring          263 


The  trainman's  cry  brought  him  to  his  feet.  He 
put  the  locket  away,  took  up  a  hand-satchel  and 
hurried  out  and  down.  A  trap  was  waiting,  in 
charge  of  a  man  in  a  smart  covert  livery.  He 
handed  satchel  and  checks  to  a  second  man,  who 
came  forward  from  the  little  depot,  climbed  to  a 
seat  in  the  trap  and  was  whirled  away. 

When  the  trap  pulled  up,  only  Mrs.  Thorburn 
greeted  him.  "  The  others  are  at  the  tennis-court," 
she  explained,  "  Dorothy  and  Hal,  Miss  Scott  —  you 
remember  her  —  the  Lamberts,  babies  and  all  -  " 

"  Good  !  "  exclaimed  Austin. 

"  And  Ned  Heaton."  Mrs.  Thorburn  rather 
snapped  this  out. 

"  Oh,  yes,  —  Ned,"  said  Austin,  wondering  at  her 
asperity. 

"  Hal's  fond  of  him,"  she  added  in  a  tone  which 
informed  her  hearer  that  she  was  not. 

He  met  the  house-party  at  luncheon.  Miss  Scott 
sat  next  him  and  was  more  pert  than  usual,  owing 
to  the  roguish  attentions  of  young  Hal,  who  held 
the  end  of  the  table  opposite  his  mother.  Across 
from  Austin,  seated  between  the  Lamberts  (an  os 
tentatiously  happy  married  couple),  was  Doro 
thy. 

"  How  these  children  grow  up  !  "  thought  Austin, 
remembering  the  romping  girl  he  had  seen  last  in 
short  frocks  —  the  girl,  curiously  enough,  that  he 
had  somehow  expected  to  meet  again.  But  here  she 
was  a  grown  woman,  slender,  pretty,  undeniably  at 
tractive.  He  noticed  with  a  feeling  of  regret  that 
she  strove  to  ape  her  mother's  haughtiness,  but  sue- 


264  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

ceeded  in  being  merely  petulant.  Her  eyes  were 
pronouncedly  eloquent.  Were  they  not  too  eloquent 
to  be  honest? 

But  these  were  Austin's  first  impressions.  Little 
by  little,  as  the  meal  progressed,  he  altered  them 
considerably.  Miss  Scott's  pertness  became  intens 
ified,  and  Dorothy's  reserve  was  thrown  into  pleas 
ant  contrast.  The  Lamberts  proved  to  be  ex 
tremely  entertaining,  and,  with  Hal,  kept  the  table 
alive  with  good-natured  fun.  Even  Mrs.  Thorburn 
unbent  to  a  degree  that  was  almost  kittenish.  Pres 
ently,  Austin  responded  to  the  infectious  merriment 
• — and  found  himself  laughing. 

Luncheon  was  long  over,  tea-time  was  nearly  at 
hand,  and  Austin,  with  the  young  ladies  looking 
gleefully  on,  was  busily  trying  to  worst  Hal  at  bil 
liards.  Suddenly  he  remembered  that  Ned  Heat  on 
had  not  appeared  either  at  luncheon  or  afterward. 

"  Oh,  he's  staying  at  the  Hamilton  ranch,  just 
back  of  Arroyo,"  Hal  explained.  "  Rides  over  every 
morning  to  help  Dorothy  lick  us  at  tennis."  This 
with  a  sly  smile  at  Miss  Scott. 

That  smile  broke  up  the  game.  Miss  Scott 
claimed  Hal's  undivided  attention,  demanding  in 
struction  in  the  handling  of  a  cue ;  and  Dorothy  and 
Austin  were  driven  forth  to  the  lawn. 

New  guests  were  added  at  dinner,  and  this  brought 
Miss  Dorothy  next  him.  He  spoke  of  a  ride.  She 
agreed  to  it  enthusiastically ;  and  for  an  hour  and 
a  quarter  held  forth  on  horseback-riding  and  the 
growing  popularity  of  stride-saddles.  When  din 
ner  ended,  and  the  company  strolled  out  upon  the 
lawn  for  coffee,  she  went  with  him. 


The  Search  for  the  Spring          265 

It  was  not  until  Austin  reached  his  room  for  the 
night  that  he  remembered  that  twelve  hours  had 
passed  during  which  all  business  cares  had  been  for 
gotten  !  Yes,  and  even —  He  reached  for  the  locket, 
only  to  find  that  he  had  not  changed  it  from  the 
vest  of  the  suit  he  had  worn  throughout  the  day. 
The  discovery  brought  a  twinge  of  conscience.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  failed  in  loyalty  to  Her. 

Dorothy  and  he  had  their  ride  in  the  morning, 
and  came  across  Ned  Heaton  just  outside  of  Ar 
royo  (Dorothy  had  chosen  that  direction).  The 
three  cantered  homeward  together  and  breakfasted 
with  the  rest.  Then  Hal  and  Austin  went  back  to 
their  billiards,  while  Ned  and  Dorothy,  with  the  Lam 
berts,  sought  the  tennis-court. 

It  was  the  glimpse  Austin  got  of  the  Lamberts 
as  they  went  out  that  started  a  new  train  of  thought 
for  him.  The  husband  walked  close  to  the  wife, 
smiling  into  her  face  and  letting  a  round  elbow  rest 
in  his  hand.  The  sight  drove  Austin  to  the  woods 
beyond  the  stables  when  the  billiard-game  came  to 
an  end.  And,  once  in  the  woods,  he  walked  aim 
lessly.  Wise  Mrs.  Thorburn,  with  her  happy  couple 
and  their  pretty  babies,  had  accomplished  in  twenty- 
four  hours  what  seven  years  of  grind  could  not  do. 

Out  among  the  oaks  on  the  hillside,  he  sat  down 
in  the  shade.  Before  him  lay  a  wooded  slope  that 
fell  rapidly  to  the  winding  ribbon  of  the  lane.  Be 
yond  the  lane,  over  the  inch- wide  railroad  track  and 
the  rugged  little  creek,  rose  other  slopes,  bare  and 
smooth  and  round.  Upon  them,  glistening  red-and- 
white  specks  against  the  wonderful  velvety  brown, 
went  cattle.  And  there  was  borne  to  him  from 
across  the  valley  the  faint,  sweet  tinkle  of  a  bell. 


266  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  It's  like  a  Keith  canvas,"  he  said,  looking  at 
the  great,  low-branched  oaks  with  their  horny  trunks 
and  tufts  of  mistletoe.  He  lay  back,  his  head  on 
his  hat,  his  eyes  shut.  Here  was  rest  indeed ! 

The  gobble,  gobble,  gobble  of  an  angry  turkey- 
cock  disturbed  the  quiet.  He  sat  up,  watching  to 
the  left,  where,  through  a  break  in  the  woods,  could 
be  seen  the  long,  regular  rows  of  a  hillside  vine 
yard.  Something  was  moving  at  its  edge — a 
woman.  He  rose  to  his  feet.  Even  at  that  dis 
tance  he  could  see  that  she  was  young  and  dark, 
and  dressed  in  something  light  and  simple.  She  was 
swinging  a  hat  by  one  hand ;  the  other  held  a  leafy 
branch;  and  with  hat  and  branch,  she  shooed  for 
ward  into  the  woods  a  small  band  of  bronze-col 
oured  turkeys. 

The  birds  came  straight  toward  him,  and  made 
a  pretty  sight  as  they  advanced,  little  and  big  to 
gether,  now  scattering  in  an  eager  search  through 
the  grass,  now  rushing  together  over  some  loudly 
announced  find.  Behind  them,  directing  their  way, 
walked  the  turkey-girl. 

She  approached  so  slowly  that  Austin  sat  down 
again.  Presently,  he  heard  her  singing,  though  he 
could  not  distinguish  the  words  or  the  tune.  Through 
the  song,  punctuating  it,  sounded  the  piercing  cres 
cendo  of  young  turkeys,  cheep,  cheep,  cheep.  Then, 
song  and  words  became  audible ;  but  not  understand 
able,  for  the  approaching  herder  was  singing  in 
Italian. 

"  The  daughter  of  the  farmer,"  concluded  Austin. 
Then,  "Why,  I  declare!" 

For  she  was  close  at  hand  now,  a  slender,  pliant 


The  Search  for  the  Spring          267 

figure  that  took  the  steep  path  lightly,  and  he 
marked,  almost  in  bewilderment,  the  beauty  of  the 
girl :  her  small  head  set  upon  a  graceful  brown 
throat;  her  black  hair,  crisply  curling  at  the  tem 
ples  ;  hazel  eyes,  heavy-lashed,  that  suggested  the 
yellow  pansies  he  had  seen  sunning  themselves  along 
the  lane ;  a  straight,  delicate  nose ;  and  a  sweet 
mouth,  brilliantly  touched  with  scarlet. 

The  mother-birds  saw  him  now  and  divided  to 
pass,  uttering  startled  warnings.  She,  too,  caught 
sight  of  him,  and  stopped  short,  covering  her  sur 
prise  by  giving  a  tardy  gobbler  an  energetic  brush 
with  her  hat.  Then  she  looked  at  him  with  uncon 
cealed  interest  and  curiosity. 

He  took  off  his  hat,  at  which  the  turkeys  gave 
way  in  renewed  fear.  "  Good-morning,"  he  said, 
pleasantly. 

"Good-morning,"  she  answered,  speaking  with 
out  a  trace  of  foreign  accent.  Then,  waving  branch 
and  hat,  she  passed  on,  replying  to  his  smile  timidly. 

He  mentioned  her  at  lunch.  "  Ah !  "  said  Hal ; 
"  a-a-ah ! "  as  if  he  had  found  something  especially 
delectable  on  his  plate.  "  That's  Vincenza.  And 
I'll  bet  she's  the  prettiest  girl  in  California." 

Everyone  at  the  table  promptly  agreed.  Austin 
felt  something  like  surprise  over  this  singleness  of 
opinion.  Even  Miss  Scott  and  Dorothy  came  out 
with  no  protesting  "  buts."  And  Mrs.  Thorburn — 
where  was  the  heated  belittlement  that  might  be  ex 
pected  of  an  adoring  and  excusably  ambitious 
mother?  Did  she  not  realise  that  here  was  an  el 
igible  and  very  likeable  young  man,  and,  on  the  next 
ranch,  an  astonishingly  lovely  girl? 


268  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

But  the  talk  was  of  something  else  now,  and  Vin- 
cenza  was  forgotten. 

That  evening,  as  he  was  sitting  beside  Mrs.  Thor- 
burn  in  the  music-room,  listening  to  Dorothy's  facile 
rendering  of  a  Grieg  number,  the  elder  woman  turned 
to  him  suddenly  and  rested  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  I  think  you've  been  happier  than  usual  these 
two  days,"  she  said.  "  Don't  you  keep  too  close  to 
your  work  and  your  home,  Mr.  Knowles  ?  " 

"  Work,  yes,"  answered  Austin.  "  But  I  can 
scarcely  say  that  I  have  a  home.  It — it  is  empty." 

"  You  choose  to  have  it  so."  She  was  frankly  re 
proving.  "  And  yet  you're  comparatively  young, 
have  means  in  abundance,  and  are  the  kind  of  man 
that  sensible  young  women  like." 

Austin  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  he  said,%"I've 
turned  forty,  and  I've  never  thought  of  filling  my 
wife's  place.  Perhaps  it's  not  gallant  to  say  it, 
but  I'm  afraid  the  place  couldn't  be  filled." 

"  You're  wrong,'*  began  Mrs.  Thorburn,  deci 
sively.  "  There  are  many  young  women  who  could 
make  you  happy,  cheer  you,  look  after  you — oh, 
every  man  needs  looking  after.  And  then,  a  son 
or  a  daughter  would  give  you  new  interests  in 
life." 

"  That's  true.  Somehow,  I've  hardly  even 
thought  of  it  before,  and  never  spoken  of  it  to  any 
one.  But  you  are — are  sympathy  itself." 

"  I  lost  my  husband,  and  I  know  how  it  is  with 
you.  I  didn't  marry  again — I  had  my  dear  chil 
dren." 

Austin  nodded.  Across  the  room,  still  seated  be 
fore  the  piano,  and  coaxing  something  wonderfully 


The  Search  for  the  Spring          269 

pathetic  from  the  long  keyboard  was  Dorothy,  a 
dainty  picture  in  her  gown  of  flowing  white. 

Mrs.  Thorburn  saw  the  direction  of  his  look. 
"  Dorothy  is  never  interested  in  very  young  men," 
she  said.  "  I  like  to  see  her  evident  pleasure  in  your 
company.  I  hope  she'll  help  to  make  your  stay  a 
very  pleasant  one.  You  know,  after  all,  there's  no 
virtue  in  continued  mourning,  in  nursing  one's 
grief."  Then,  quickly,  seeing  Austin  breathe  deep, 
"  Don't  misunderstand  me.  I  don't  mean  we  should 
forget  soon,  or  forget  at  all.  Only,  we're  put  on 
this  earth  for  happiness — happiness  that  doesn't 
conflict  with  the  happiness  of  others." 

"  Yes,"  said  Austin ;  "  yes,  I'm  sure  that's  so." 
When  she  got  up  to  move  over  to  the  Lamberts, 
chatting  together  in  a  corner,  he  stayed  where  he 
was.  For  a  second  time  he  was  thinking  along  new 
lines.  This  time,  however,  his  thoughts  were  de 
cidedly  definite. 

"  I  wonder,"  he,  said  to  himself,  "  I  wonder  how 
it  would  have  been  if  /  had  died  and  Barbara  lived." 
The  thought  of  another  man  in  his  place  came  up. 
"Well,  I'd  have  wished  it."  And,  presently,  when 
he  went  up  to  bed,  his  mind  was  so  engrossed  that, 
for  the  first  time  since  She  had  gone,  he  forgot  to 
take  his  nightly  look  at  the  picture  in  the  round 
locket. 

The  next  morning  he  and  Dorothy  rode  again. 
It  proved  a  less  entertaining  ride  than  the  other. 
For  she  was  unusually  silent,  even  distrait,  and,  Aus 
tin  thought,  rather  sad.  They  went  beyond  Ar 
royo,  as  before,  and  passed  the  ranch  where  Ned 
Heaton  was  staying.  But  they  did  not  see  him, 


270  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

and  as  the  sun  had  grown  unpleasantly  warm  by 
that  time,  they  headed  their  horses  back. 

The  wistfulness  of  Dorothy's  eyes,  and  the  little 
droop  at  the  corners  of  her  pretty  mouth,  touched 
Austin  considerably.  "We  should  have  started 
earlier,"  he  said,  and,  "  I'm  afraid  you've  over 
done.  Sha'n't  we  rest  awhile  at  the  creek?  " 

But  she  was  hungry,  she  declared,  and  gave  her 
horse  a  sharp  cut  with  her  quirt  to  put  him  into  a 
gallop.  Austin  kept  alongside,  feeling  somewhat 
contrite.  When  they  reached  the  house,  he  helped 
her  dismount  with  marked  care,  and  anxiously  fol 
lowed  her  to  the  veranda.  There  she  left  him,  and 
he  did  not  see  her  again  till  dinner,  which  fact  kept 
him  waiting  about  all  day,  not  a  little  worried. 

After  dinner,  they  walked  together  in  the  cool. 
Somehow,  Austin  came  to  help  her  occasionally,  tak 
ing  her  by  the  arm,  for  the  road  was  gravelled  and 
her  slippers  were  thin.  Again  she  was  quiet ;  again, 
her  eyes  were  sad,  and  glistened  with  what  seemed 
to  him  to  be  unshed  tears.  He  was  very  gentle  with 
her,  and  won  a  wan  smile  now  and  then,  or  a  quick, 
grateful  look. 

When  their  walk  was  over,  and  Dorothy  had  said 
good-night,  Mrs.  Thorburn  came  to  sit  beside  Aus 
tin,  under  the  rose-covered  pergola.  Once  more  she 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  again  her  speech 
was  full  of  friendly  interest  and  sympathy,  lead 
ing,  at  last,  to  the  subject  of  a  change  in  Austin's 
mode  of  life,  and  then — to  marriage. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  her  meaning.  She 
admired  and  respected  him.  His  loyalty  to  his  dead 
wife  was,  to  her,  a  sure  sign  that  he  would  make  a 


The  Search  for  the  Spring          271 

loyal  husband  to  a  new  one.  And  Dorothy  felt  so, 
too. 

Later,  he  held  a  conference  with  himself — and  felt 
just  a  trifle  disappointed  at  the  thought  that  Mrs. 
Thorburn  was  descending1  to  match-making.  "  Per 
haps  I  would  be  happier,  though,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  "and  more  contented.  But — Dorothy  is 
twenty." 

Was  there  not  too  wide  a  gap  between  their  ages? 
He  had  always  held  that  youth  naturally  turned  to 
youth  for  happiness ;  he  had  always  strongly  disap 
proved  of  the  marriage  of  May  with  December, 
pointing  out  that  such  a  union  never  took  place  when 
December  was  poor.  But. — was  forty  December? 
On  the  other  hand,  he  was  not  poor. 

"  But  the  Thorburns  don't  need  money,"  he  said 
decisively.  "  It  wouldn't  be  a  purchase."  The  idea 
was  so  abhorrent  that  he  determinedly  put  it  aside, 
and  fell  asleep  thinking  of  possible  changes  in  the 
decorations  and  furnishings  of  the  big,  stone  house 
on  the  avenue. 

The  miniature  had  not  been  forgotten:  he  had 
purposely  refrained  from  looking  at  it. 

It  was  early  morning  when  he  awoke  and  looked 
out.  The  sun  was  just  rising.  High  Court  was 
yet  asleep.  The  only  moving  thing  about  the 
grounds  was  a  gardener,  pushing  before  him  a  bar 
row  filled  with  weeds  and  tools.  Austin  dressed  hur 
riedly,  and  quietly  made  his  way  out  upon  the  broad 
lawn.  Then  he  pulled  his  soft  hat  over  his  eyes, 
settled  his  coat,  and  made  off  down  the  carriage  road, 
walking  briskly. 

To  reach  the  creek  was  easy.     But  once  on  its 


272  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

edge,  he  looked  up  at  the  house  and  felt  that  the 
long  pull  back  would  be  less  difficult  after  a  refresh 
ing  cup  of  coffee.  The  thought  touched  his  pride 
— had  he  grown  to  be  such  an  old  fogy  that  he  must 
have  his  usual  breakfast  stimulant  before  making 
a  little  extra  physical  effort !  The  town  lay  up  the 
level  track.  He  turned  that  way.  * 

Breakfast  over  at  the  little  Mexican  restaurant, 
he  started  homeward,  leaving  the  tracks,  this  time, 
and  following  a  trail  that  led  through  a  small  field 
of  alfalfa.  When  the  woods  were  reached,  he  set 
tled  himself  against  a  log  in  the  sun,  and  looked 
down  upon  the  town,  toward  which  a  pigmy  freight 
train  was  crawling,  and  upon  the  fringed  creek  and 
the  small,  fenced  alfalfa  fields  bordering  the  lane. 

And  then — gobble,  gobble,  gobble.  He  glanced 
along  the  trail.  Some  turkeys  were  coming  into 
view,  and  beyond  them,  a  wide,  bobbing  hat. 

When  Vincenza  appeared,  driving  the  laziest  gob 
bler  before  her,  Austin  rose.  "  Out  early  with  your 
turkeys,  I  see,"  he  began.  "  You're  Miss  Vincenza. 
Mrs.  Thorburn  has  spoken  of  you.  I'm  staying  at 
High  Court  for  a  few  days." 

She  had  been  standing  very  still  while  he  talked, 
modestly  watching  him.  Now,  she  smiled  frankly, 
and  nodded.  "Yes,  I  know  Mrs.  Thorburn,"  she 
said.  "  All  the  time,  ladies  and  gentlemen  come 
from  the  city  to  visit  her.  Sometimes  I  see  them — 
I  go  up  to  the  house  to  take  a  turkey,  maybe,  and 
then  I  see  them  on  the  porch." 

She  moved  away,  following  the  flock,  and  he 
walked  with  her.  They  went  slowly,  accommodating 
themselves  to  the  vagaries  of  the  leading  hens,  whose 


The  Search  for  the  Spring         273 

slender  chicks,  forever  cheeping  shrilly,  ran  on  and 
on  in  a  little  brown,  eager  brood. 

"  Isn't  the  morning  beautiful !  "  he  said.  "  I  live 
in  the  city,  you  know,  and  never  see  the  sun  come 
up." 

"  I  always  see  it,"  she  answered.  "  I  drive  the 
turkeys  out  early.  They  are  in  a  coop  at  night, 
for  the  coyotes  would  like  to  eat  them.  When  they 
get  loose,  oh,  they  walk  and  walk.  They  walk  my 
feet  off !  "  She  shook  her  head  in  mock  despair. 

They  paused  now,  the  foremost  turkeys  having 
stopped  to  explore  a  manzanita  thicket.  Austin 
took  a  closer  look  at  her  than  he  had  had  before, 
his  wonder  growing  over  her  delicate  beauty.  Never 
had  he  seen  its  equal.  And  yet  she  seemed  uncon 
scious  of  it,  and  had  none  of  the  smirking  and  sim 
pering  and  obvious  showing-off  of  her  prettiness 
that  marred  most  girls.  Then,  for  some  reason, 
there  rose  up  before  him  a  certain,  doll-like  face, 
pretty  and  petulant,  but  distinguished  by  eyes  that 
were  purposefully  eloquent. 

The  hazel  pair  at  hand  were  watching  the  valley. 
Austin  looked  and  saw  a  horseman  threading  the 
lane  by  the  creek.  At  that  great  distance,  the  horse 
looked  to  him  scarcely  more  than  a  rabbit  in  size. 

Vincenza's  face  lighted  as  she  looked.  "  Ah ! " 
she  exclaimed  presently ;  "  it  is  Guido !  "  And  shap 
ing  her  slim  hands  to  form  a  mouth-trumpet,  she 
sent  down  a  long,  clear  halloo. 

The  horseman  reined  sharply  and,  taking  off  his 
hat,  waved  it  about  his  head.  Then  he  rode  on, 
with  a  trail  of  dust  rising  like  smoke  behind  him. 

Between  the  galloping  horseman  and  the  hill,  two 


274  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

people  on  foot  were  moving  slowly.  Austin  studied 
them  a  moment.  One  was  a  woman,  in  a  white  dress, 
the  other  a  man — Heaton,  surely,  for  there  was  no 
mistaking  that  broad  sombrero.  But  who  was  the 
girl? 

Vincenza  now  hurried  forward,  all  anxiety  for  her 
flock.  "  Fantana,"  she  called,  "  oh,  where  are  the 
babies  ?  "  Spying  them  out,  all  safe,  she  came  back 
to  give  the  ever-lagging  gobbler  a  smart  cuff. 
"  Why,  why  do  you  not  stay  with  the  little  ones  and 
take  care  of  them?  "  she  demanded  in  a  scold.  "  You 
bad  Dewey !  " 

Austin  was  delighted.  He  gave  over  watching  the 
couple  in  the  valley  and  helped  her  circle  the  flock 
and  keep  them  from  spreading.  Then,  together, 
they  freed  a  little  turk  that  had  tangled  his  over- 
long  legs  among  some  vines. 

The  next  four  days  passed  with  amazing  swiftness 
for  Austin.  His  mornings  were  spent  among  the 
oaks  upon  the  hill,  where  the  turkeys  never  failed 
to  make  their  appearance.  He  took  a  shotgun  with 
him,  Hal  having  suggested  that  the  ranch  could 
spare  an  occasional  coyote  or  rabbit — or  even  a  wild 
cat  !  But  the  afternoons  were  devoted  to  High 
Court,  and  billiards  or  bridge  made  the  warm  hours 
go  quickly.  In  the  evening  there  was  a  drive,  per 
haps,  or  a  stroll. 

As  a  rule,  after  dinner,  Austin  walked  with  Dor 
othy,  the  others  rather  pairing  off  or  grouping  so 
that  this  might  be  the  case.  One  night,  however, 
toward  the  end  of  his  stay,  Miss  Scott  fell  to  his 
lot.  The  first  half-hour  with  her  he  contrived  to 
spend  agreeably.  Once  you  knew  her,  he  had  come 


The  Search  for  the  Spring          275 

to  think,  she  was  really  a  nice  enough  girl.  Her 
pertness  grew  out  of  her  natural  sharpness  rather 
than  out  of  any  intent  to  be  caustic  or  malicious. 
But — did  it? 

They  had  arrived  at  a  palm-bordered  turn  in 
the  road  that  led  to  the  valley.  There  they  paused, 
looking  back  at  the  low,  white  house,  the  wide  win 
dows  of  which  were  all  brilliantly  alight. 

"  Isn't  it  a  delightful  home?  "  said  Austin.  "  So 
simple,  yet  it  would  be  hard  to  find  a  detail  that 
could  be  improved." 

"  There  is  one,  though,"  retorted  Miss  Scott. 
"  Only  you  can't  see — a  mortgage."  The  expres 
sion  of  her  face,  it  was  as  if  she  had  winked,  carried 
full  meaning. 

It  worked  like  a  sudden  poison.  Now  Austin 
understood  Hal's  apparently  enthusiastic  liking  for 
him ;  now  he  understood  Mrs.  Thorburn's  well-veiled 
wishes  and  friendly  pats  upon  his  arm;  now  he  un 
derstood  Dorothy,  sulky  at  times,  at  others  over- 
cordial,  in  fact,  gushing,  and  always  so  eloquent  of 
eye. 

But  could  he  give  unquestioning  belief  to  the  mere 
insinuation  of  a  sharp-tongued  envious  girl?  What 
right  had  he,  on  such  flimsy  evidence,  to  jump  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  Thorburns,  mother  and  son, 
were  cold-blooded  bargainers ;  that  Dorothy,  in  her 
sweeter  moods,  was  acting  a  crafty  lie? 

As  he  walked  silently  homeward,  he  was  forced 
to  acknowledge  to  himself  that  he  had  not  an  inkling 
as  to  what  were  the  girl's  true  inclinations.  Her 
artificial  life,  and  her  training  under  false  standards, 
made  it  possible  for  her  to  mask  her  real  self.  If 


276  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

there  were  no  one  to  influence  her,  would  she  seek 
her  happiness  with  him? 

His  meeting  with  Vincenza  next  morning  was  like 
a  breath  of  scented  air  after  a  stifling  room.  She 
did  not  know  of  his  wealth,  she  did  not  parade  her 
beauty,  she  was  not  hunting  a  human  bank.  If  it 
were  a  question  of  what  were  her  feelings,  how  easily, 
how  unerringly,  it  could  be  answered!  For  what 
she  said  came  straight  from  her  innocent  heart,  and 
could  be  accepted  absolutely.  She  was  truth  itself. 

While  they  sat  together  under  a  broad  live-oak, 
with  the  turkeys  settled  down  nearby  in  the  sun, 
he  listened  with  keen  pleasure  to  her  nai've  chatter 
and  to  the  sturdy  announcement  that  she  was  going 
to  the  city — soon,  too,  this  with  a  blush,  and  that 
even  now  she  was  having  a  "  tailor-suit "  made  for 
her  journey. 

"A  tailor-suit!"  thought  Austin,  almost  laugh 
ing  at  the  ridiculousness  of  it.  She  seemed  so  fitted 
to  the  simple  print  dress  and  the  broad  sun-hat  she 
was  wearing. 

The  following  day  he  breakfasted  before  the  oth 
ers  and  hurried  off  eagerly,  carrying  the  gun.  He 
had  never  fired  it  yet,  but  it  served  as  an  excellent 
excuse  for  his  long  rambles.  When  he  reached  the 
oak  grove  on  the  hillside,  he  leaned  the  weapon 
against  a  tree.  Then  he  stretched  himself  out,  his 
soft  hat  under  his  head. 

Vincenza — in  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  how 
often  the  thought  of  her  had  come  to  him!  What 
a  contrast  this  girl  of  the  fields  was  to  Dorothy 
Thorburn !  How  winsome,  how  unaffected.  She 
was  a  little  woman  to  be  prized  as  a  jewel  by  a  fortu- 


The  Search  for  the  Spring         277 

nate  man.  How  disinterested  her  companionship 
with  him  had  been !  She  liked  him  solely  for  him 
self — with  no  knowledge,  and,  therefore,  no  thought, 
of  the  big  stone  house  that  would  be  a  veritable 
palace  of  fairyland  to  a  girl  like  her;  with  no 
thought  of  fine  raiment,  or  of  luxuries  of  any 
sort. 

Something  moved  in  the  chaparral  clump  above 
him.  He  turned,  and  saw  two  small  brown-feathered 
birds  emerge. 

"  Quail ! "  he  said  under  his  breath.  He  reached 
for  the  gun,  aimed  quickly,  and  fired. 

Instantly  mingled  cries  went  up:  the  frightened 
gobbling  of  grown  turkeys,  the  pitiful  cheeps  of  a 
young  bird  as  it  tumbled  about  in  the  grass,  and, 
louder  than  these,  the  wailing  plea  of  a  girl — "  Oh ! 
oh!  don't  shoot!" 

Then,  racing  down  upon  him,  came  Vincenza,  her 
hat  gone,  her  dark  hair  flying,  her  face  white  with 
anxiety  for  her  flock. 

There  he  stood,  red-handed,  the  gun  in  his  grasp, 
the  injured  chick  at  his  feet. 

She  saw  the  little  crumpled  victim  now,  and  with 
a  pitiful  sob  sank  down  and  took  it  into  her  lap. 
"  Ah !  poor  Maria ! "  she  wept,  smoothing  a  stained 
wing. 

"  Vincenza,"  pleaded  Austin,  putting  the  gun 
aside  and  kneeling  beside  her,  "  I  didn't  mean  to  do 
it.  I  thought  it  was  a  quail.  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry. 
Listen.  I'll  make  the  loss  up  a  thousand  times. 
Come,  f^lease  don't  cry." 

The  chaparral  crashed  above  him.  He  stood  up 
— in  time  to  meet  the  angry  black  eyes  of  a  stalwart 


278  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

young  man,  who  came  panting  upon  the  scene,  car 
rying  Vincenza's  hat. 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  the  newcomer. 
"  My  Vincenza,  are  you  hurt?  This  fool  has  been 
shooting."  And  lifting  the  girl  up,  he  held  her, 
as  if  in  defence,  against  his  breast.  [Instantly  Aus 
tin  divined  why  the  mistress  of  High  Court  had  no 
need  to  belittle  the  turkey-girl !] 

"  No,  no,  Guido,"  Vincenza  sobbed  protestingly, 
"  he  is  not  a  fool." 

"  He  kills  the  turkeys,"  went  on  Guido,  glaring 
at  Austin.  "  Say,  Mister,  what's  the  matter  with 
you?" 

"  I'll  make  it  right,"  Austin  answered  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  The  devil ! "  began  Guido,  almost  shaking  Vin 
cenza  in  his  wrath.  "  But  she  loves  each  little 
one." 

Vincenza  interrupted  him.  A  slim  hand  came  up 
and  settled  determinedly  upon  his  mouth.  "Guido," 
she  entreated,  "  do  not  be  so  mad.  I  would  have 
to  sell  them  all  before  the  wedding,  would  I  not? 
And  Maria  was  so  young — she  was  not  worth  two- 
bits.  "Only" — plaintively — "she  dies  a  little 
sooner." 

"  Well,  anyhow,"  went  on  Guido,  not  a  whit  pac 
ified,  "  I  like  to  know  why  you  hang  around  and 
hang  around  here  all  the  time.  Vincenza,  she  is 
mine,  and  I  do  not " 

Again,  the  girl  interrupted.  This  time,  she 
stepped  back  a  little,  holding  her  lover  at  arm's 
length  and  smiling  at  him  through  her  tears.  "  Oh, 
poor  Guido,"  she  cried  teasingly,  with  a  swift  look 


The  Search  for  the  Spring         279 

toward  Austin.  "What  you  think?  He  is  jealous! 
And  of  this  kind  old  gentleman !  " 

Austin  involuntarily  straightened,  and  his  head 
jerked  back  as  if  from  a  blow.  The  doubts  that 
had  troubled  him  were  settled.  Truth  had  spoken. 

He  took  out  a  bulging  leather  purse,  opened  it, 
and  let  a  dozen  shining  fives  run  into  his  hand.  Then, 
his  sensitive  face  pale,  his  look  subdued,  he  held  out 
the  money  to  Guido. 

The  young  Italian  received  it  with  something  short 
of  a  bow,  and  proffered  it  to  Vincenza.  "  Here," 
he  said  soothingly. 

Vincenza,  black  lashes  still  wet,  gazed  in  wonder 
ment  upon  the  little  pile  of  coins.  "  Oh! "  she  cried, 
"  but  Maria  was  not  worth  so  much !  " 

Austin  picked  up  the  gun,  buttoned  his  coat,  and 
returned  Guido's  bow.  "It  is  partly  a — a  little 
wedding  gift,"  he  said.  "  And  I  wish  you  both  all 
the  happiness  that  life  can  give.  Good-day."  He 
lifted  his  hat  and  wheeled. 

At  that  moment  he  saw,  halted  in  a  well-screened 
turn  of  the  distant  road  by  the  creek,  two  figures. 
One  was  slender  and  dressed  in  white,  and  one  was 
topped  by  a  wide  sombrero.  And,  as  he  looked,  the 
white-clad  figure  was  suddenly  caught  close  to  the 
other — so  close  that  two  heads  were  shielded  by  the 
same  broad  hat. 

"Well,"  said  Austin,  at  luncheon,  smiling  upon 
his  hostess,  "  I  go  back  to  town  to-day." 

Mrs.  Thorburn's  face,  until  now  wreathed  in 
smiles  that  were  marvels  of  effusive  amiability, 
dropped  as  suddenly  as  if  a  rough  hand  had  been 


280  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

drawn  down  across  it;  then  it  slowly  reddened,  and 
two  eyes,  startled,  even  apprehensive,  exchanged  a 
glance  with  Hal. 

"  Nonsense !  "  cried  the  son  of  the  house,  leaning 
toward  Austin.  "  We  can't  let  you  go — that's  all 
there  is  about  it.  Ned  here  is  off  in  the  morning, 
and — and  we  can't  afford  to  lose  anyone  else.  Can 
we,  mother?  " 

By  now  Mrs.  Thorburn  had  recovered  somewhat 
from  her  momentary  surprise.  Once  more  beaming 
amiably,  she  shook  a  finger  at  Austin  in  playful 
sternness.  "  I  protest,"  she  said.  "  No,  no,  you 
can't  go.  We  all  protest.  Dorothy " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  chimed  in  the  girl,  but  with  illy 
feigned  enthusiasm.  "  Why — why  should  you  go  ?  " 

"  I've  got  such  a  lot  to  do,"  explained  Austin. 
"  You  know  Thomas — the  man  that's  been  with  me 
such  a  long  time  He's  just  been  married,  and  I 
want  to  attend  to  a  wedding-present  for  him." 

"  The  idea  of  your  hurrying  away  to  look  after 
a  servant's  comfort,"  cooed  Mrs.  Thorburn,  "when 
you  need  rest  so  badly  yourself." 

"I  think  you're  right,"  admitted  Austin,  airily. 
"  I'm  not  as  young  as  I  was  once." 

"  Not  so  young !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Thorburn.  "  Oh, 
how  ridiculous !  "  And,  "  Bosh !  "  added  Hal.  But 
Dorothy  said  nothing,  only  coloured,  as  if  in  guilt. 
Ned  was  watching  her,  his  boyish  face  set,  his  eyes 
half  closed.  The  Lamberts  alone  were  concerned 
with  their  luncheon.  Miss  Scott  was  all  attention. 
Her  sharp  chin  was  up,  her  sharper  eyes  travelling 
alertly. 

"  Yes,  not  so  young,"  continued  Austin,  jovially. 


The  Search  for  the  Spring          281 

"In  fact,  I'm  nothing  less  than  an  old  gentleman." 
He  gave  a  hearty  laugh. 

Mrs.  Thorburn  shifted  uneasily.  His  demeanour 
had  in  it  an  entirely  strange  note.  The  subdued, 
seemingly  pliable  Austin  she  understood.  But  what 
of  this  new  one,  changed  all  at  once — more  youth 
ful,  cheery  and  dominating? 

"  You  know,  these  two  weeks,  I've  had  time  to 
take  stock  of  myself,"  Austin  continued.  "  I  was 
in  a  groove.  Well,  travelling  over  these  hills  has 
taught  me  the  value  of  change  and  recreation.  I'm 
going  back  to  town  to  settle  things  up  so  that  I 
can  get  away  to  Europe  for  a  long  vacation.  I'm 
afraid  that  means  more  work  for  you,  Ned." 

The  young  man  looked  back  at  him  soberly. 
"  Yes,  sir?" 

"  Sort  of  a  manager.     What  do  you  say?  " 

For  a  moment  there  was  perfect  silence;  next,  a 
general  movement;  then — Dorothy's  fork  fell  from 
her  hand  and  clattered  upon  a  plate. 

"  Manager,"  repeated  Heaton. 

The  older  man  nodded,  and  smiled  from  one  to 
another  of  the  circle.  When  he  came  to  Dorothy, 
he  saw  a  face  from  which  petulance  and  pretence 
were  gone.  Her  eyes,  as  they  met  his,  were  as  child 
ishly  honest  as  Vincenza's  own.  And  they  were  shin 
ing  with  tears. 

"  And  while  I'm  away  you  could  take  care  of  my 
house,  Ned,  if — if  you  weren't  a  single  man." 

Again,  a  perfect  silence,  a  silence  almost  electric. 
Hal  and  his  mother  exchanged  a  second  swift  glance. 
Miss  Scott  leaned  forward.  She  looked  at  no  one, 
and  spoke  with  sly  triumph. 


282  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Congratulations,"  she  said. 

With  Arroyo  far  behind,  and  High  Court  only  a 
white  dot  upon  the  brown-grey  hills,  Austin  turned 
from  the  car  window,  took  out  the  round  locket  and 
opened  it.  In  his  face  there  was  none  of  the  old 
pain.  Instead,  he  looked  with  a  tender  smile  upon 
the  pictured  face  of  his  wife. 

"  Barbara,"  he  said,  "  the  spring  of  youth — it 
never  could  be  found  a  second  time.  We  drank  from 
it  together — we  enjoyed  it  to  the  full.  What  a  mis 
take — mourning  instead  of  exulting  in  the  memory 
of  it — a  memory  that  no  one  can  take  from  me — 
of  youth  with  you,  dearest,  of  youth  with  you!  " 


THE    SILVER   BELL    OF    LOS 
MORALES 

STRANGE  things  are  related  of  the  old  Indian 
pueblo  of  Los  Morales   on  the  Rio  Grande. 
And  a  tale  that  is  one  of  the  strangest  con 
cerns     these — a     dark     vaquero — a     young 
painter  of  Indians,  fair  as  the  vaquero  was  dark — 
a  blue-eyed  girl  with  a  spotted  mustang — a  little 
father  of  the  chapel  of  San  Felipe — a  dove  that  was 
a  peacock — a  peacock  that  was  a  living  example — 
a  deer  fed  on  flowers — and  an  empty  belfry  that 
sounded  forth  the  ringing  of  a  bell. 

"  Ah-ah,"  said  Father  Jose,  pausing  in  the  midst 
of  his  salad-making  to  listen,  " — more  trouble ! " 

The  young  man  at  the  easel  looked  up.  "  Gra 
cious  ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  faced  about  to  peer 
through  the  low,  wide-ledged  window  of  the  kitchen. 
"  It  sounds  serious." 

"  But  it  is  only  Anastacio  and  Paloma,"  said  the 
father  wearily.  He  trotted  across  the  worn  floor 
to  fetch  a  deep  white-and-gold  dish  from  his  cup 
board.  Returning,  he  held  the  dish  up.  "  It  was 
my  mother's,"  he  explained  proudly,  "  — like  all 
those  upon  the  shelf.  She  had  a  full  set  of  porce 
lain.  And  my  salads  are  always  most  palatable  in 
this  dish." 

"  Paloma,"  repeated  the  painter,  with  a  fleet 
glance  at  the  dish.  "  That  means  a  dove." 


284  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Yes — and  I  christened  her.  But,  ah !  Senor 
John,  when  a  Spanish  girl  is  yet  a  baby,  how  is  it 
possible  to  know  what  name  she  should  be  given? 
A  dove!" 

At  this  juncture  the  quarrel  without  waxed  more 
loud  and  furious.  A  girl  shrilled  something  taunt 
ing — over  and  over,  in  a  high  key — then,  the  rumble 
of  a  man's  deep  growling  answered — next,  both  voices 
sounded  together — a  very  discord  of  wrath. 

"  I'd  like  to  get  Anastacio  to  sit  for  me,"  said  the 
painter.  "I  could  call  it  'The  Brigand.'  What 
do  you  suppose  the  trouble  is  this  time?  " 

The  father  was  intent  upon  his  salad.  In  the  bot 
tom  of  the  white-and-gold  dish  he  laid  a  slice  of 
buttered  bread  well  rubbed  with  garlic — this  for  a 
foundation,  as  it  were.  Then  upon  the  bread,  leaf 
laid  against  leaf,  so  that  the  effect  was  that  of  a 
huge  green  rose,  he  placed  the  lettuce,  all  glistening 
with  its  dressing  of  oil  and  vinegar;  and  a-top  the 
lettuce,  thin  circles  of  silvery  onion. 

"  I  do  not  ask,"  he  said  presently,  "  because  it 
is  not  necessary  to  ask.  I  hear  it  all  at  confession." 

Senor  John  smiled,  and  came  back  to  his  painting. 

"  If  it  is  something  wicked  that  Paloma  has  done," 
resumed  the  father,  "  I  know  even  before  that.  For 
she  comes  to  bring  me  a  custard." 

The  next  moment,  the  low  blue  door  beside  the 
window  was  struck  so  violently  from  without  that 
it  slammed  open  with  a  bang  against  the  corner  of 
Father  Jose's  china-cupboard.  Then  over  the 
threshold  on  swift  foot  came  a  girl,  her  angry  face 
ivory-pale  in  contrast  with  her  black  eyes  and  wildly 
tossed  black  hair.  "  But  I  love  the  deer ! "  she  burst 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       285 

forth  pantingly,  as  she  paused  before  the  father; 
"  and  I  will  not  give  him  away.  And  if  I  cannot 
have  him  at  the  new  house,  then  I  shall  not 
marry." 

The  father  had  been  standing  with  one  hand  upon 
his  cupboard  to  steady  it,  for  the  bang  of  the  door 
had  set  all  his  precious  porcelain  to  rattling.  Now, 
by  a  rolling  of  his  eyes,  a  pursing  of  his  lips,  and  a 
sidewise  wagging  of  his  head,  he  directed  the  girl's 
look  toward  the  easel. 

She  half  whirled,  and  a  sudden  tinge  of  coral 
upon  cheek  and  lip  relieved  the  black  and  ivory. 
"  O-o-oh !  "  she  murmured,  and  fell  back  a  step. 

Senor  John  rose,  bowing  over  his  palette  and  brush. 

"  This  gentleman,"  explained  Father  Jose,  "  is 
Senor  John  Gordon.  He  is  staying  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  at  the  rancho  of  Senor  Allen.  And 
he  comes  here  to  paint  pictures." 

Paloma  regarded  the  stranger  in  silence  for  a  mo 
ment.  Then,  "  He — he  will  think  I  am  a  cross  girl," 
she  began  regretfully.  "  But  it  is  Anastacio  that 
gives  me  the  temper.  One  day," — advancing  a  lit 
tle—"  he  is  all  kind  looks,  Senor,  and  he  says  what 
is  nice.  Next  day,  he  is  all  bad  looks,  and  the 
serape  is  over  his  ears — ugh!  One  can  never  tell 
how  he  will  be.  He  is  worse  for  changing  than  the 
sand  of  the  river.  Yes.  And  now  he  wishes  back 
the  ring!  What  do  you  think,  padrecito?  "  She 
held  out  her  left  hand  with  a  quick  gesture.  Upon 
the  slender  third  finger  of  it,  milk-white  against  the 
creamy  smoothness  of  her  skin,  shone  a  single  large 
pearl.  "  It  cost  him  fifty  dollars  !  " — this  triumph 
antly. 


286  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Well !  well ! "  said  Senor  John,  coming  forward 
to  get  a  better  look. 

"You  think  that  much?"  said  Paloma.  "So  it 
is.  But  I  would  not  wear  a  turquoise  or  a  garnet, 
such  as  are  picked  up  by  the  Indians  not  so  far  away 
$ — and  I  would  not  wear  beaten  silver,  as  do  the 
squaws.  No — my  pearl,  you  see,  is  set  in  gold,  and 
it  was  bought  in  Albuquerque,  at  the  store  that  has 
high,  glass  windows." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  questioned  the  painter,  even  more  im 
pressed. 

"  But  whatever  it  cost,"  went  on  Paloma,  "  Anas- 
tacio  shall  not  have  it  back.  What  is  given,  is 
given.  It  is  not  my  fault  that  he  cannot  love  my 
pretty  Miguel.  I  said  to  him,  '  The  good  father 
has  a  peacock.  And  I '  " 

Father  Jose  held  up  a  hand  to  interrupt  her.  "  My 
peacock  serves  as  a  lesson  to  my  Indians,"  he  said. 
"  He  is  a  living  example  of  all  that  is  least  to  be 
desired.  He  is  beautiful,  but  useless;  he  talks 
loudly,  but  does  nothing;  he  struts,  but  goes  no 
where;  he  eats  much,  yet — since  he  is  old — his  flesh 
is  not  even  good  for  food.  Vain  and  ostentatious 
bird! — his  life  is  a  warning." 

Paloma  had  scarcely  heard  him,  having  been  wait 
ing  a  chance  to  speak  again.  Now  she  continued 
promptly,  mimicking  her  lover :  "  '  Miguel  will  take 
all  your  time,'  Anastacio  complains.  Well," — argu- 
mentatively — "  Miguel  must  be  watched,  else  the 
dogs  will  chase  him.  Has  not  Anastacio  said  (more 
than  once,  senor,)  that  he  himself  is  certain  the  dogs 
will  do  away  with  Miguel?  So!  And  if  I  were  not 
watching  the  little  one,  what  then  should  I  do? 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       287 

Make  mud  dishes? — like  the  Indians?  Hah!  That 
for  what  Anastacio  thinks  !  The  pig !  "  Again  she 
threw  out  her  hand — with  a  loud  snap  of  her  fingers. 

"Hush!"  whispered  the  father.  "He  is  there." 
He  pointed  through  the  window. 

"  A-a-ah !  "  It  was  a  purr.  With  a  sudden  step 
aside,  and  a  sway  of  her  shoulders,  she  looked  past 
the  young  painter.  "  He  is  waiting  for  me ! "  she 
cried.  "  But  I  shall  not  go.  No !  I  think  that  I 
even  do  not  like  him  any  more,  and  I  may  not  marry 
him  after  all.  He  thinks  himself  so  handsome!  Puf ! 
— with  that  moustache  of  his,  like  a  bird's-nest ! " 
And  she  threw  back  her  tumbled  head,  and  shook  her 
black  hair  and  laughed  aloud. 

Close  by,  and  built  at  right  angles  to  the  rear  wall 
of  Father  Jose's  own  house,  rose  the  north  wall  of 
the  chapel  of  San  Felipe — a  mud  wall,  up  which 
some  vines  straggled.  Against  the  vines,  and 
half-screened  by  them,  leaned  a  blanket-wrapped 
figure. 

Now,  Paloma  neared  the  window,  but  without  look 
ing  out,  and  sat  down  on  the  wide  ledge,  so  that 
she  was  in  full  sight  of  the  waiting  man  by  the  wall. 
Then,  she  turned  to  Senor  John's  easel  with  a  great 
show  of  interest.  "  You  are  making  a  picture  of 
Los  Morales ! "  she  began.  "  Am  I  not  quick  at 
guessing?  You  see  it  could  not  be  Albuquerque,  for 
you  have  put  flat  roofs  on  the  houses.  And  it  is  not 
old  Albuquerque,  because — oh,  padrecito!  here  is 
your  house,  and  the  garden,  and  the  church  with 
the  little  tower!  Paint  a  bell  in  the  tower,  senor, 
since  we  have  none."  And  she  smiled  up  at  Senor 
John  saucily. 


288  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  My  daughter ! "  chicled  Father  Jose,  almost 
sternly,  "  do  not  jest  of  the  bell!" 

"  So  there  was  a  bell — once,"  said  the  young 
painter. 

The  father  folded  a  damp  napkin,  covered  his 
salad,  and  set  the  white-and-gold  dish  away  care 
fully  on  a  shelf.  Then  he  came  over  and  stood  be 
side  the  easel,  one  slender  hand  clasping  the  other, 
and  both  held  against  the  jet  cross  that  swung  on 
his  breast.  He  was  short  and  lean,  with  straight, 
white  hair;  a  pale,  bulging,  bald  forehead;  a  high 
nose ;  thin  cheeks — upon  each  a  spot  of  scarlet ;  and 
dark  eyes  that  were  on  occasions  alive  with  almost 
childish  fun,  nearly  extinguished  by  laughter  and 
as  full  of  glints  as  the  big,  shining,  brown-black 
beads  of  his  rosary,  but  which,  at  other  times,  were 
wide,  serene,  and  luminous. 

"  It  was  when  there  were  mulberry-trees  here  by 
the  river,"  he  began,  " — the  trees  that  gave  the 
pueblo  its  name.  There  are  some  who  say  that  mul 
berry-trees  were  never  here;  or,  if  trees  were  in 
deed  here,  they  were  only  of  the  cottonwood.  But 
these  doubters  think  also  " — a  gentle  smile  parted 
his  lips — "  that  the  silver  bell  of  Los  Morales  is  only 
a  legend." 

"  The  silver  bell,"  repeated  Serior  John. 

"  Aye,  silver,"  answered  the  father  sadly ;  "  that 
is  why  it  hangs  no  longer  in  the  tower  of  San  Felipe. 
Alas !  my  belfry  is  a  pierced  ear  from  which  the 
jewel  has  been  torn."  And  his  head  bent  to  his 
hands.  After  a  moment  he  raised  his  face,  and 
raised  his  hands  >so  that  they  pressed  one  palm 
against  the  other,  at  his  chin.  "  It  came  to  be  lost 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       289 

through  greed,"  he  went  on.  "  A  wandering  band 
of  Indians  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  at  this  ford  and 
attacked  the  pueblo.  That  was  many,  many  years 
ago.  The  band  came  to  steal,  for  they  were  hun 
gry — not  having  been  wise,  Paloma,  and  provided 
themselves  against  a  day  of  need.  They  fought 
from  the  ground,  for  they  had  no  horses,  and  the 
Pueblos  fought  from  the  flat  roofs  of  their  houses, 
sending  sharp  arrows  down  upon  their  enemies. 
These,  before  they  were  fully  routed,  withdrew  from 
the  town,  and  sought  a  brief  refuge  in  the  chapel, 
and  here,  in  this  house.  They  demanded  money, 
but  there  was  no  money  to  give  them,  and  so  the 
brave  priest  said.  They  did  not  harm  the  man  of 
God.  But  they  climbed  to  the  belfry.  There  was 
the  bell.  They  knew  there  was  silver  in  it,  else  they 
would  not  have  troubled.  There  was  much  silver 
in  it,  senor,  it  having  been  made  in  Old  Mexico, 
where  the  custom  was  to  use  silver.  The  bell  was 
easy  to  take.  It  swung  in  no  yoke,  but  from  a  round 
ish,  wooden  beam,  by  heavy  thongs  that  were  run 
through  its  iron  loop.  These  thongs  they  cut,  and 

then "      The   scarlet   spots    on   his    thin   cheeks 

blanched,  his  eyes  became  round  pools  of  glowing 
black.  "  Senor,  a  storm  broke — a  storm  the  like  of 
which  Los  Morales  had  never  before  seen.  Rain 
like  a  second  deluge,  so  that  the  Rio  Grande  deep 
ened  on  its  bed,  and  wind  so  strong  that  it  caught 
up  the  water  of  the  river  and  lashed  the  ground 
with  it,  and  carried  waves  up  to  the  edge  of  the 
town — aye,  even  to  the  foot  of  the  dirt  cliffs  beyond. 
The  thieves  in  the  chapel  were  frightened — not  be 
cause  they  saw  what  a  terrible  thing  it  was  they 


290  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

had  done,  senor,  only  because  they  believed  they 
might  not  get  safely  away  with  their  lives.  So  they 
hurried  down  to  the  river,  six  men  carrying  the  bell, 
and  started  to  cross.  As  they  entered  the  stream 
the  silver  tongue  was  swinging  to  and  fro,  to  and 
fro,  calling  a  farewell  through  the  storm.  And  the 
Indians  on  the  housetops  called  back  to  their  be 
loved  bell,  answering  it,  and  they  wept  aloud." 

Here,  the  father's  voice  faltered,  broke,  and  went 
silent.  He  shut  his  eyes,  and  his  slender  hands 
trembled.  But  presently,  he  again  looked  up  at 
the  two  who  were  listening.  "  Then,  as  the  bell  was 
choked  into  dumbness  by  the  rushing  waters,"  he  said, 
"  the  six  who  bore  it  suddenly  sank  from  sight.  They 
had  walked  into  a  very  pit  of  death !  " 

"  How?  "  questioned  the  young  painter. 

"  The  quicksands,  senor." 

"The  quicksands!" 

"You  should  know  that  for  all  its  shallow  depth, 
the  Rio  Grande  is  here  most  treacherous,  and  trav 
ellers  keep  to  the  ford.  The  sands  shift,  senor — 
the  bed  of  the  river  rots." 

"And  the  silver  bell — it  was  never  heard  of 
again  ?  " 

"  Listen !  and  I  will  tell  you.  One  black  night, 
long  before  I  came  to  Los  Morales,  a  second  band 
of  thieving  Indians  crept  up  across  the  level  ground 
beyond  the  river — across  the  ground  where  stands 
the  hacienda  in  which  you  stay,  Senor  John.  Before 
entering  the  ford  the  band  halted  to  get  ready  their 
arrows,  for  they  meant  to  take  the  town  and  drive 
out  all  the  inhabitants.  But  see  what  happened! 
Scarcely  had  the  enemy  pushed  their  horses  into  the 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       291 

water  at  the  farther  side  when  the  priest  who  lived 
here  then  wakened  of  a  sudden.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  from  overhead  had  sounded  a  warning — the 
single  clear  peal  of  a  bell!  " 

Paloma  crossed  herself.  Her  dark  eyes  were  wet. 
"Ah!  padrecito!  "  she  said  softly.  "  I  would  pray 
for  the  return  of  the  silver  bell  were  I  not  too 
wicked." 

"  I  pray,"  said  the  father,  "  and  my  faith  does 
not  falter.  Ah!  senor!  when  the  bell  is  restored  to 
its  tower,  I  shall  waken  the  town  with  its  mellow  call 
to  prayer!  The  Indians  come  but  slowly  to  the 
chapel  now.  But  think  how  musically  sweet  and 
inviting " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  slow,  dull  thub,  thub, 
thub  of  a  drum,  which  was  beating  from  somewhere 
in  the  direction  of  the  pueblo.  He  nodded  gravely. 
"  That  is  what  calls  my  people,  senor,"  he  said. 
"  Little  wonder  that  they  lag." 

The  drum  had  brought  Paloma  to  her  feet.  "  The 
noon  service,  and  so  much  yet  left  undone!"  she 
cried.  She  gave  a  backward  nod  to  Senor  John, 
caught  up  one  of  the  father's  hands  upon  her  wrist, 
dutifully  kissed  it,  and  went  out  the  door  through 
which  she  had  come. 

"  That  warning  in  the  night,"  said  the  young 
painter,  "  — it  saved  the  town?  " 

"Yes."  The  father  went  to  ,the  window  and 
leaned  his  hands  on  the  sill.  "  Little  wonder  that 
they  lag,"  he  said  again,  as  if  to  himself.  Then, 
to  Senor  John :  "  See ! — for  I  am  an  old  man  and 
my  eyes  are  poor — is  that  Roberta  Allen?  She  does 
not  know  fear  of  the  ford." 


292  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

The  young  man  also  looked  out.  A  girl  was 
slowly  passing,  mounted  on  a  spotted  mustang  that 
was  wet  to  his  hocks.  She  was  a  slender  girl,  in 
laced  boots,  a  riding-skirt,  and  a  waist  of  some  thin, 
white  stuff  that  the  wind  fluttered.  She  peered  in 
through  the  window — a  sailor  hat  shielding  her  face 
from  the  glare  on  the  adobe  wall,  and  her  blue  eyes 
fixed  themselves  eagerly  upon  Senor  John. 

"  Yes,  father,"  answered  the  young  painter,  and 
he  smiled  and  bowed  to  the  girl.  Having  watched 
after  the  spotted  mustang  for  a  moment,  he  turned 
to  look  the  opposite  way,  where  a  bobbing  black 
head  showed  above  the  untidy  board  fence  that  sur 
rounded  a  near-by  house.  "  Paloma  is  very  beauti 
ful,"  he  added  presently. 

The  father  was  searching  in  the  wide  seat  of  his 
cane  arm-chair.  "  Aye,  senor,"  he  admitted.  "  But 
often  a  pink  dulce  has  a  black  pulp." 

"  What  a  contrast  to  Miss  Allen !  "  the  other  went 
on.  The  spotted  mustang  was  entering  the  winding 
street  of  the  pueblo. 

The  father  had  found  his  book,  and  now  paused 
a  moment,  his  hand  on  the  door-latch.  "  My  pea 
cock,  senor,"  he  said,  "  does  not  mean  to  be  vain. 
But  he  cares  only  for  the  bright  feathers  that  hang 
upon  his  body,  and  he  loves  to  strut.  But,  Roberta, 
she  is  wise  and  modest,  I  think."  And  he  went  out. 

When  Father  Jose  had  disappeared  through  the 
side  entrance  of  the  chapel,  Senor  John  opened  the 
front  door  of  the  kitchen  and  stepped  down  to  the 
flat  stone  that  lay  just  before  it.  The  front  door 
opened  on  the  father's  garden — the  only  garden  in 
the  whole  of  Los  Morales.  Two  feet  of  paved  walk 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       293 

divided  the  garden  and  led  from  the  door  to 
a  weathered  picket-gate.  All  the  wide  cracks  of 
this  walk  were  well  weeded  and  neatly  filled  with 
trowel-marked  adobe,  and  on  either  side  of  the  walk 
stretched  small  squares  of  bright  green  lawn. 
Across  these  squares  now,  and  across  the  stone  walk, 
the  father's  peacock  was  strutting,  from  the  rose 
bushes  that  stood  against  the  pickets  on  one  hand 
to  the  sweet-pea  vines  that  screened  the  fence  on 
the  other.  And,  as  he  paraded,  the  sun  glanced 
upon  his  crested  head,  brilliantly  blue  breast,  and 
the  green-and-gold  semi-circle  of  his  tail  plumage. 
The  young  painter  was  still  watching  the  bird 
when  his  ear  caught  a  song  not  from  the  chapel.  A 
girl's  voice  was  singing  it — a  clear  voice,  if  a  little 
loud: 

The  moon  is  a  sun  with  a  veil — 

Lift  my  veil,  and  behold  my  eyes  shining. 

The  voice  neared,  repeating  the  words  but  some 
what  disconnectedly.  Then,  "  Go  on! "  cried  the 
voice  impatiently,  breaking  off  the  song.  "  Must  I 
carry  you !  " 

The  next  moment  Paloma  came  into  view  beyond 
the  pickets  at  the  corner  of  the  kitchen.  A  scarlet 
shawl  was  thrown  about  her  shoulders,  and  she  was 
half-leading,  half-shoving  a  young  deer.  The  deer 
was  a  full-eyed  creature,  nimble  and  strong.  And 
now  it  butted  with  its  sharp  horns,  and  now  struck 
out  swiftly  with  alternating  front  and  hind  feet. 

"  Open  the  gate,"  called  Paloma.  "  Miguel  does 
not  wish  to  come  in.  But  how  shall  he  get  grass 


294  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

except  when  Father  Jose  is  in  the  chapel?  Go  on, 
you  beast!" 

The  young  painter  hastened  to  the  gate. 

"  Shove  and  lead  and  coax !  "  scolded  Paloma,  puff 
ing.  "  Once  I  could  do  anything  with  him.  But 
now  he  is  getting  too  big.  There !  Now  he's  in !  " 

"  But,  look ! "  cried  Sefior  John.  "  He's  tearing 
the  roses ! " 

"  My  life !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  hastening  forward 
across  the  grass.  "  Stop  it,  Miguel !  Stop  it !  Oh, 
you  sinful  one !  " 

But  as  fast  as  she  drove  him  away,  Miguel  re 
turned  to  the  rose-bushes,  circling  the  strutting  pea 
cock  with  little  leaps.  After  him  raced  Paloma. 
And  as  she  ran,  she  shrieked  with  laughter  and  threw 
bits  of  dirt  at  the  deer. 

"  Oh,  I  am  dying  for  breath!  "  she. called.  "  He 
knows  the  roses  are  choice,  you  see !  Is  he  not  beau 
tiful  !  Who  could  help  but  love  him* ! " 

The  last  was  a,imed  at  a  figure  approaching  from 
the  town.  It  was  Anastacio,  bound  riverward,  his 
serape  so  far  across  his  face  that  only  his  gleaming 
eyes  showed  from  under  his  wide  and  heavy  som 
brero.  He  strode  past  slowly,  those  eyes  now  upon 
Sefior  John,  now  upon  Paloma  and  the  running  deer. 
Behind  him,  riding  at  a  distance,  came  the  girl  on 
the  spotted  mustang. 

Paloma  redoubled  her  laughter  and  her  merry 
cries  and  Sefior  John  joined  his  laughter  to  hers  and 
leaned  his  arms  on  the  pickets  of  the  gate.  She 
called  upon  him  to  testify  that  Miguel  was  a  very 
goat.  She  pursued  the  little  animal  more  fleetly, 
lashing  out  at  him  so  smartly  with  a  broken  rose- 


TUe  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       295 

spray  that  the  peacock  retired  to  the  wide  stone- 
step,  and  let  fall  the  glory  of  his  train.  Around 
and  around  she  tore,  her  cheeks  scarlet  as  her  shoul 
der-shawl,  her  black  eyes  dancing,  her  hair  whip 
ping  out  behind,  her  teeth  gleaming  like  a  score  of 
pearls  as  white  as  that  one  in  her  ring. 

All  at  once,  spent  with  her  running  and  shouting, 
and  almost  choking  with  her  mirth,  she  turned  to 
the  gate  to  find  that  Senor  John  was  no  longer  there, 
but  was  now  standing  between  the  garden  and  the 
river,  talking  to  the  girl  on  the  spotted  mustang; 
while  Anastacio  had  disappeared  entirely — under  the 
high  bank  that  stood  back  from  the  strip 
of  gently  sloping  beach.  Paloma's  face  fell,  her 
eyes  stared,  her  head  came  up  resentfully.  Then 
she  walked  over  to  Miguel,  seized  him  by  a  narrow 
strap  about  his  neck,  gave  him  a  cuff  to  quiet  him, 
and  jerked  him,  struggling,  out  of  the  yard. 


It  happened  the  very  next  morning.  Senor  John 
was  in  the  garden,  sketching  the  peacock,  and  hum 
ming  the  song  of  the  sun  and  the  moon  and  the  veil 
as  he  sketched,  and  Father  Jose  was  close  by,  busy 
with  the  roses,  a  violet-bordered  square  of  black  silk 
tied  over  his  ears,  and  his  hands  full  of  dislodged 
pickets  and  lengths  of  string.  Suddenly  they  heard 
the  screams  of  a  girl — screams  sharp  with  grief — • 
then,  wild  broken  cries — "  Padre !  Oh !  oh !  Marmta! 
Dios!  It  is  blood!" 

"  Senor  John !  "  called  the  father.  "  Something 
unlucky  has  befallen  Miguel.  Come!" 

They  hurried  into  the  kitchen  by  one  door  and 


296  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

out  of  it  by  another  and  along  the  path  that  led 
back  of  the  chapel.  A  middle-aged  lady  was  stand 
ing  beside  the  path — a  bareheaded,  fat  lady,  whose 
face,  though  gentle  and  somewhat  dirty,  suggested 
the  round  face  of  Paloma;  with  her  was  Paloma — 
her  head  upon  her  mother's  breast,  and  her  form 
shaking  with  tempestuous  sobs.  At  their  feet,  on 
the  smooth-packed  ground,  was  a  little  round  dark 
pool. 

"  It  is  as  I  feared,"  said  the  father,  when  he 
stopped  and  looked  down.  "  Here  are  some  yellow- 
grey  hairs,  and  here,  cloven  hoof-marks." 

Paloma,  seeing  out  of  one  eye  that  Senor  John 
was  present,  now  began  to  wail  more  vigorously  than 
before.  "  O  my  Miguel !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You 
were  so  pretty  and  so  good!  O  padrecito,  he  but 
pruned  the  roses  !  " 

Her  mother  wept,  too,  but  silently,  and  strove  to 
sooth  Paloma  by  patting  her  on  the  shoulder.  Her 
own  tears  she  dried  against  the  scarlet  shawl,  after 
she  had  smiled  a  sad  greeting  through  them. 

"  Do  not  cry,"  said  Father  Jose,  wiping  surrepti 
tiously  at  his  cheeks  with  a  flowing  corner  of  the 
silk  square. 

"  Because  Miguel  isn't  dead,"  declared  Senor 
John.  "  The  dogs  have  only  wounded  him  probably, 
and  he's  run  away  to  hide." 

The  words  of  comfort  had  an  effect  opposite  to 
that  desired.  Paloma's  sorrow  mounted.  She  threw 
herself  upon  her  knees,  clinging  now  to  her  mother's 
dress,  and  now  catching  at  the  black  skirt  of  the 
father,  and  "Oh!  oh!  oh!"  she  sobbed. 

"  I'm  going  to  start   right   out   and  hunt  him," 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales        297 

said  the  young  painter.  "  If  he's  dead,  I'll  find  his 
body." 

The  father  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "  Maybe," 
he  said.  "  But  you  forget,  senor,  the  deer  is  good 
to  eat." 

"At  this  time  of  the  year?  "  asked  the  other,  sig 
nificantly. 

At  that  the  two  men  exchanged  glances  of  mean 
ing.  Then,  "  Let  us  hunt  until  we  know,"  advised 
Father  Jose,  in  a  low  tone.  "  And,  meanwhile, 
let  us  say  nothing."  He  laid  a  finger  on  his 
lips. 

Paloma  had  listened — between  sobs — to  what  was 
being  said.  Now,  she  sprang  up  excitedly. 
"Know?"  she  cried.  "I  know  this  moment.  He 
did  it!  None  needs  to  tell  me  different.  Every  day 
he  has  come.  '  Marry  me  or  give  back  the  ring,'  he 
has  said.  And  I  have  said,  '  No,'  to  both.  And 
he  has  done  this  to  revenge  himself.  The  rattle 
snake  ! "  The  next  moment  she  straightened  resent 
fully,  and  stared  past  Senor  John  and  the  father. 
Then,  "  Rattlesnake!  "  she  cried  again,  and  stamped 
a  foot. 

The  others  turned  about,  and  beheld  Anastacio 
sauntering  down  the  path  that  led  from  the  pueblo 
to  the  chapel.  He  returned  their  look  defiantly — 
almost  triumphantly — and  took  off  his  sombrero  in 
a  wide,  mocking  sweep. 

There  was  that  in  the  gesture  which  made  the 
father  resolve  on  a  rebuke.  "Anastacio ! "  he  called 
peremptorily,  and  hurried  toward  the  vaquero,  his 
eyes  severe,  his  thin  face  flushed  even  up  his  bald 
forehead  to  the  roots  of  his  white  hair.  "Anasta- 


298  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

cio,"  he  said,  as  he  neared  the  path,  "  the  cock  that 
crows  the  loudest  catches  the  eye  of  the  cook." 

The  vaquero's  eyes  widened  in  innocent  wonder 
ment.  "  What  is  it  that  I  have  done  ? 5?  he  ques 
tioned,  in  an  aggrieved  voice. 

"  Miguel  is  gone.  It  was  a  coward's  trick,  I  say, 
even  though  he  nibbled  my  roses." 

"  Miguel  gone!  Since  when,  father?  Alas  !  Too 
bad!  But  if  a  man  is  in  Albuquerque  all  the 
night "  He  pulled  at  his  moustache. 

"  Where  do  you  visit  in  Albuquerque  ?  You  busy 
yourself  with  gambling,  I  have  no  doubt,  or  with 
drinking — surely  some  sin.  Where?" 

"  At  Riley's,  father,  on  the  street  which  has  a  car. 
There  till  midnight.  Then,  at  Georgio's,  for  the 
stupid  Riley  shuts  his  door  when  it  is  twelve." 

"  So?  I  trust  you  do  not  think  to  throw  ashes 
in  my  eyes.  For  I  get  the  truth  always,  do  I  not?  " 
Then,  suddenly  pointing,  "  I  see  that  you  crossed 
the  river  on  foot.9' 

Anastacio  regarded  his  boots.  They  showed  a 
recent  wetting,  and  one  end  of  his  serape — from 
which  a  small,  bright  square  had  been  torn — hung 
as  heavy  as  if  it  had  been  trailed  in  a  stream. 

"  Do  you  walk  to  Albuquerque?  "  inquired  Father 
Jose,  eyeing  him  narrowly. 

The  vaquero  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  only  a  draw 
ing  back  of  his  lips  from  over  has  white  teeth. 
"  Sometimes  I  walk,"  he  answered  evasively. 

"Then  the  Rio  Grande  is  plainly  like  a  sea  for 
you,"  declared  the  father.  "For  you  are  the  tint 
of  an  unripe  lemon."  With  that,  he  walked  away. 

Instead  of  searching  for  the  lost  Miguel,  Seiior 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales        299 

John  rode  to  Albuquerque  that  afternoon,  that  being 
Father  Jose's  wish,  When  he  returned  at  sunset, 
it  was  with  the  expected  news.  Anastacio  had  not 
been  seen  in  the  town  the  evening  previous.  And 
neither  could  venison  be  purchased  at  a  certain  lit 
tle  Spanish  shop,  though  the  young  painter  had  first 
winked  across  a  piece  of  silver  and  then  asked  for 
a  cut  of  the  deer  brought  from  Los  Morales. 

But  the  day  following  the  hunt  began.  As  many 
as  three  Indians  reluctantly  consented  to  help,  and 
led  by  Senor  John  and  the  girl  on  the  spotted  mus 
tang,  made  off  to  the  marshes  north  of  the  town. 
Late  rains  had  deepened  the  ooze  of  the  marshes, 
and  even  the  road  which  crossed  them  was  a  channel 
for  running  water.  The  two  on  horseback  floun 
dered  from  one  muddy  pool  to  another,  while  the 
Pueblos,  wound  in  bright  blankets,  stationed  them 
selves  on  a  dry  eminence  and  solemnly  rotated. 

Paloma  watched  the  searchers  from  the  roof  of 
her  home,  and  when  they  returned,  gave  herself  over 
to  tears  of  rage  and  desolation.  Fortunately,  An 
astacio  came  to  talk  with  her  at  suppertime,  and  to 
declare  his  guiltlessness  solemnly.  So  her  unhappi- 
ness  found  a  vent.  She  berated  him.  She  cried 
that  never,  never  would  she  marry  him.  And  in  the 
end,  when  she  had  said  all  her  say,  she  stuffed  her 
fingers  into  her  pretty  ears  and  bade  him  begone. 

After  that,  seven  days  passed  without  incident. 

The  morning  of  the  ninth  day  following  Miguel's 
disappearance,  Senor  John  chanced  to  be  painting 
by  the  river.  At  Los  Morales  the  Rio  Grande  is 
wide,  and  the  colour  of  the  crumbling  dirt  banks 
between  which  it  runs ;  the  colour,  too,  of  the  high, 


300  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

crumbling  dirt  cliffs  that  stand  back  of  the  pueblo 
on  the  west,  and  the  colour  of  the  low,  square,  flat- 
roofed  adobe  houses  of  the  Indian  village.  Two 
high,  white  crosses  marked  its  ford — one  being  set 
on  the  farther  shore  and  one  on  the  near.  At  the 
base  of  the  latter  the  young  painter  had  his  easel,  and 
over  him,  made  fast  to  the  cross  so  as  to  shade  him 
from  the  sun,  was  a  huge  umbrella,  yellower  than  the 
river. 

As  he  worked  he  glanced,  now  at  the  shallow 
stream,  and  now  at  his  canvas — this  as  painters  do. 
Suddenly,  something  close  to  the  bank  caught  his 
eye  —  a  greyish  something,  almost  submerged, 
around  which  the  water  purled  and  played  with  little 
whispers.  He  sprang  up  in  haste,  overturning  easel 
and  stool,  and  ran  down  the  narrow,  sloping  beach 
which  here  stretched  between  river  and  bank. 

There  was  no  need  to  doubt  what  he  saw.  For 
there,  thrust  up  through  the  moving  water,  almost 
in  reach  of  his  hand,  was  the  point  of  a  sharp  horn. 

His  first  thought  was  that  Paloma  might  see  it; 
his  next,  that  Father  Jose  must  be  summoned. 

The  father  came  at  once,  adjusting  his  spectacles 
upon  his  high  nose  as  he  hurried  along.  And  when 
he  saw  what  was  lying  near  the  shore,  with  the  water 
urging  it  inch  by  inch  downstream,  he  fell  back  with 
a  shocked  and  sorrowful  face,  murmuring  his  pity. 
"  The  gentle  creature ! "  he  said.  "  I  trust  I  was 
never  over-bitter  against  him.  Though  he  had 
green  to  feed  upon,  yet  he  would  rather  crop  at  my 
flowers.  Senor,  how  human !  " 

"  But  what  is  that,  Father  Jose?  "  Senor  John 
pointed  to  a  bit  of  bright-coloured  cloth  that  was 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       301 

now  spread  out  upon  the  surface  of  the  water  from 
the  tip  of  the  horn.  By  wading  a  step  and  poking 
at  the  cloth  with  the  end  of  his  brush-handle,  he 
dislodged  it,  whereupon  it  gave  a  sudden  whirl, 
floated  for  a  few  feet,  then  rode  into  shore  on  an 
eddy. 

"Ah,  senor!"  cried  Father  Jose,  as  he  caught  it 
up — and  anger  succeeded  pity  on  his  face.  "  He 
thought  to  throw  the  little  beast  where  he  would  be 
sucked  down.  But  the  sands  have  shifted!  And 
here  is  telltale  proof !  Come  with  me,  senor.  It  re 
quires  discussion."  And  he  led  the  way  hastily  to 
Paloma's. 

What  befell  at  the  council  needs  no  particular  re 
counting.  Paloma's  mother  said  little  and  that  in 
Spanish.  Paloma  wept  and  threatened,  and  vowed 
that  now  she  truly  would  not  marry  Anastacio, 
though  he  lived  to  be  as  old  as  the  father  himself  and 
as  rich  as  the  richest  man  in  Albuquerque.  As  for 
Senor  John,  he  said  little,  but  listened  respectfully 
to  Father  Jose,  who  spoke  chiefly  of  the  law. 

After  the  drum  had  beaten,  and  midday  prayers 
had  been  said  in  the  chapel,  Father  Jose  took  a 
cup  of  coffee  to  fortify  him,  then  donned  cloak  and 
hat  and  climbed  up  to  the  little  railway  station  at 
the  top  of  the  crumbling  dirt-cliffs.  There  he  asked 
on  the  telephone  for  the  office  of  the  sheriff  of  the 
county,  and  when  the  sheriff  spoke  at  the  other  end 
of  the  wire,  Father  Jose  asked  him  to  hasten  to  Los 
Morales  to  arrest  one  Anastacio  Galvez,  for  killing  a 
deer  out  of  season. 

When  the  sheriff  came,  Anastacio,  swaggering 
cheerfully,  again  sought  Paloma.  "  Ninita,"  he  be- 


302  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

gan,  "  I  come  for  a  farewell  word.  I  am  sorry  now 
that  Miguel  is  dead,  since  it  makes  you  so  unhappy. 
But  do  not  forget  that  love  urged  me  to  do  away 
with  him." 

"  Then  murder  again ! "  retorted  Paloma,  en 
raged  ;  "  — my  mother,  the  dear  father,  the  guinea- 
pigs  which  Marmta  has  just  given  me — all!  So  you 
will  have  my  heart  alone — perhaps."  And  she 
laughed  harshly. 

There  was  a  suspicion  of  merriment  in  his  eyes, 
but  he  pulled  a  long  face.  "  I  am  going  to  prison 
for  the  sake  of  my  love,"  he  protested.  "  I  must 
go  to  prison,  for  I  have  not  a  cent  with  which  to  pay 
the  fine." 

Now  Paloma  almost  shrieked  in  her  triumph. 
"  Good!  "  she  cried.  "  And  perish  in  prison.  I  am 
pleased!  I  am  pleased!  And  because  you  have 
been  in  prison  I  shall  never  marry  you.  The  killing 
of  Miguel  was  very  much.  But  a  prison  is  much 
more.  I  could  never  marry  a  man  who  had  been  in 
prison.  My  pride  would  not  let  me." 

"  Then  all  is  over  between  us  ?  "  questioned  Anas- 
tacio,  meekly. 

"All!  All!  I  tell  you  I  would  not  marry  you 
now  if  you  were  covered  thick  with  gold  and  silver 
and  jewels  from  your  head  to  your  ugly  feet — no, 
not  even  if  you  had  thousands  of  pearls  as  big  as 
this  one."  And  she  flashed  the  ring  before  his  dark 
eyes. 

"  In  that  case,"  he  went  on,  "  I  think  it  but  honest 
that  you  should  give  back  this  pearl."  And  he 
watched  her  keenly. 

"  The  pearl !  "  she  cried.  She  was  walking  to 
and  fro,  her  head  high.  "  The  pearl  will  pay  me 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       303 

for  the  loss  of  Miguel.  Yesterday  I  said,  '  I  shall 
give  Anastacio  back  the  ring,  for  I  hate  the  sight  of 
it.  And,  besides,  the  pearl  is  doubtless  only  glass, 
after  all,  and  I  can  easily  get  a  better.'  But  now — I 
shall  keep  it."  (This  with  an  imperious  glance  of 
her  eyes.) 

"  Miguel  was  not  worth  so  much,"  argued  Anas 
tacio.  "  He  was  little  and  thin.  And  the  pearl " 

His  eyes  rested  upon  it,  where  it  flashed  on  the  hand 
at  her  side. 

"  You  shall  not  have  the  pearl,"  she  declared, 
"  not  if  you  die  asking  for  it.  You  killed  my  pretty 
Miguel — and  it  was  not  even  on  a  feast-day.  So 
now,  this  is  how  you  pay."  As  she  crossed  the  floor 
with  slow  grace,  she  smiled  mockingly. 

Again  his  look  rested  longingly  on  the  round 
whiteness  of  his  gift.  "  Ah,  Paloma,"  he  said  ten 
derly,  "  you  but  increase  my  passion  as  you  storm. 
Little  dove,  your  sweet  mouth  is  the  colour  of  pep 
per-tree  berries.  Your  eyes " 

"  Have  done  with  my  mouth  and  my  eyes ! "  or 
dered  Paloma,  pausing  against  the  window.  But 
she  spoke  perhaps  a  shade  less  angrily  than  before. 
"  They  are  not  for  you.  Go  hunt  among  the  Indian 
girls  for  a  wife.  One  of  these  you  can  lead  about 
on  a  rope,  as  you  do  your  cows.  But,  ah,  I  pity  the 
one  you  would  choose !  A  squaw  is  too  good  for  you 
— much  too  good." 

"  I  must  speak  of  your  beauty,"  insisted  Anasta 
cio.  "  It  fills  my  eyes  like  the  light  of  the  sun. 
When  I  shall  see  it  no  more  the  night  will  fall  for  me. 
O  my  Paloma!"  And  he  took  one  step  toward 
her. 

She  waved  him  back  with  her  two  hands.     "  Keep 


304  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

your  compliments !  "  she  said  haughtily.  "  I  do 
not  want  them.  And  take  yourself  off.  I  never 
wish  to  see  you  again." 

But  Anastacio,  undaunted,  approached  another 
step  or  two.  "  Do  not  be  cruel,  Paloma,"  he  begged 
"  Say  farewell  kindly  to  me,  sweet  dove.  And  before 
I  go  let  me — yes,  be  merciful — let  me  kiss  your  little 
hand." 

'  No !  No!  I  say !  "  She  leaned  farther  away, 
and  struck  at  him  as  he  came — though  not  hard. 

With  a  tender  cry  of  "Ah!  my  beautiful  one!" 
he  caught  her  two  flying  hands  in  his.  Then,  hold 
ing  all  her  fingers  firmly,  he  bent  his  dark  head  down 
to  her  left  hand  swiftly.  The  next  moment,  he  re 
treated,  almost  with  a  leap,  swung  the  door  open, 
closed  it  behind  him,  ran  swiftly  to  where  the  sheriff 
was  waiting  for  him  on  the  path  by  the  chapel,  threw 
himself  on  to  a  horse,  and  led  the  way  at  a  gallop  to 
the  river. 

Paloma  pursued  him,  and  so  fleetly  that  her  hand 
all  but  touched  the  tapadero  of  his  stirrup  as  he 
rode  into  the  river.  Those  who  saw  her  then,  stand 
ing  at  the  edge  of  the  stream,  splashed  upon  face 
and  dress  with  the  yellow  water  sent  into  the  air  by 
his  horse's  hoofs,  were  appalled  as  they  looked  at 
her.  She  was  livid  with  anger  and  screamed  wild 
things  that  no  one  understood — execrations  and 
threats.  Then  she  fell  down  at  the  ford  in  a  very 
spasm  of  wrath. 

It  was  Senor  John  who  lifted  her  up  and  gave  her 
into  the  comforting  arms  of  her  mother.  "  What 
did  he  do?  "  he  questioned.  "  He's  a  bad,  heartless 
wretch,  that's  what  he  is." 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       305 

"  Seiior !  My  adored  pearl ! "  wailed  Paloma, 
finding  her  voice.  "  Oh,  he  has  taken  my  precious 
pearl ! "  She  held  out  her  left  hand  tremblingly. 

"The  pearl?"  echoed  Father  Jose,  joining  the 
others. 

"  See  what  he  did !  "  wept  Paloma.  "  He  made  as 
if  to  kiss  my  fingers — and  bit  the  pearl  from  my 
ring!" 

At  sunset  Anastacio  was  back  at  Los  Morales 
again,  where  he  bade  fair  to  become  a  hero  before 
long,  since  the  Indians  could  not  but  honour  a  man 
who  was  able  so  promptly  to  throw  off  the  clutches 
of  the  jailer.  Anastacio  related  his  adventures  to 
those  Pueblos  who  were  lounging  before  the  single 
store  of  the  town,  and  who,  as  they  listened,  sur 
rounded  him  in  an  eager,  many-hued  circle.  It  was 
easy,  he  explained,  to  guard  against  being  kept  in 
custody  if  one  but  used  a  little  forethought.  As  for 
his  own  case,  it  had  presented  no  difficulties.  He 
had  paid  his  fine  with  the  pearl. 

When  the  boast  reached  the  ears  of  Paloma,  what 
could  have  maddened  her  more?  At  once  she  sat 
herself  down  to  think.  Revenge  was  what  she  most 
desired.  Revenge  was  what  she  must  have — but 
how?  Not  till  she  had  paced  the  floor  many 
times,  and  torn  all  the  fringe  from  the  bottom  of 
the  scarlet  shawl?  did  she  think  out  the  best 
way. 

The  girl  who  rode  the  spotted  mustang  came  past 
the  chapel  the  very  next  morning.  Paloma  ran  to 
halt  her,  holding  up  a  flower  culled  from  Father 
Jose's  garden  by  way  of  an  inducement  to  stop. 


306  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

And  when  Paloma  had  made  sure  that  no  one  was 
watching  them,  or  listening,  she  divulged  an  earnest 
wish.  It  was  that  Senorita  Roberta  would  give  her 
the  loan  of  a  ring. 

A  pair  of  blue  eyes  laughed  down  at  her  know 
ingly.  "  Punish  him  well !  "  whispered  Senorita  Ro 
berta,  and  slipped  a  band  from  a  finger.  "  Here — 
take  this  one  with  a  green  stone.  It  will  make  him 
terribly  jealous!"  Then  she  rode  to  where  Senor 
John  was  painting  beneath  the  empty  belfry  in  the 
shadow  of  the  chapel  wall. 

Putting  on  the  borrowed  ring  Paloma  hastened  to 
dress  herself  with  great  care.  After  which,  stroll 
ing  carelessly,  she  made  through  the  sunlight  to  the 
store. 

The  man  who  kept  the  store  was  young,  but  with 
the  pallid  skin  and  sad,  hollow  eyes  that  denote  a 
mortal  illness.  He  could  move  about  but  slowly  in 
the  little  room,  and  take  down  and  display  and  put 
away  only  with  much  effort. 

As  he  waited  upon  her,  Paloma  walked  to  and  fro 
with  a  gay  step,  all  the  while  talking:  "  Show  me 
the  calico  with  the  yellow  flower,  senor.  Yes — a 
yard,  please.  Did  you  hear  that  Senor  Gordon  is  to 
paint  me?  Well,  he  is — and  with  the  padre's  pea 
cock.  I  am  to  wear  a  certain  white  dress  that  I  shall 
not  use  for  the  purpose  it  was  once  intended.  No ; 
I  shall  buy  another  white  dress — very  soon,  I  think 
— a  much  richer  dress.  And,  look,  senor,  is  this 
ring  not  beautiful?  The  stone  came  from  beyond 
the  Pacific  Ocean." 

Behind  the  stove,  as  she  sauntered  about,  boast 
ing,  sat  a  figure  wrapped  to  the  ears  in  a  torn  scrape. 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       307 

But  the  figure  did  not  move,  or  appear  to  see,  or  even 
so  much  as  cough. 

"  Yes,"  babbled  Paloma,  "  first  I'm  to  be  put  in 
a  picture.  Then — who  knows? — I  may  go  on  a 
long  trip.  Oh,  farther  than  Albuquerque,  senor. 
Yes,  one  spool  of  white  thread,  very  fine.  I  may 
even  go  as  far  as  Chicago."  She  tossed  her  pretty 
head  with  meaning.  "  A  girl  cannot  always  live  in 
Los  Morales,"  she  added.  "  It  is  but  a  poor  place." 
Thereupon,  she  gathered  up  her  packages,  put  down 
some  coins  upon  the  counter,  gave  the  sick  young 
man  a  saucy  smile,  and  went  out. 

Perhaps  it  was  ten — perhaps  fifteen — minutes 
later  when  Anastacio  rose  from  his  seat  by  the  stove. 
A  change  had  come  over  him — a  change  that  was 
not  good  to  see.  His  thin  face  was  as  ghastly  white 
as  the  face  of  the  man  behind  the  counter.  Out  of 
it  gleamed  his  black  eyes,  which  were  so  wide  open 
that  each  was  rimmed  with  white.  And  his  lips  were 
purple  under  his  long  moustache  and  parted  to  show 
the  line  of  his  set,  white  teeth.  Now  his  hat  was 
not  hiding  his  forehead,  but  back  upon  his  shining 
hair;  nor  was  the  torn  scrape  about  his  shoulders — 
it  was  wound  around  his  left  arm.  He  went  down 
through  the  village,  out  upon  the  path  which  led  to 
the  chapel,  along  this  to  where  Senor  John  was  still 
painting  under  the  belfry,  and  so  on  to  the  ford, 
where  he  disappeared  from  sight  under  the  high  bank 
that  stood  a  little  way  back  from  the  river. 

The  day  had  begun  warm  and  still,  and  the  noon 
had  been  hot,  without  a  breath  of  air  to  stir  the 
drooping  flowers  in  Father  Jose's  garden  or  wave 


308  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

the  bright  fan  of  the  strutting  peacock.  But  at  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon  black  clouds  suddenly  low 
ered  upon  river  and  town,  dropping  from  off  the 
high  dirt-cliffs  to  the  west,  and  bringing  twilight 
with  them.  A  gusty  wind  marshalled  the  clouds 
along,  bent  the  reeds  in  the  marsh,  drove  through 
the  winding  streets  of  the  pueblo  and  caught  at  the 
blankets  of  the  Indians  who  were  scurrying  to  cover, 
and  brushed  all  the  surface  of  the  river  into  a  white 
lather.  Then  came  great  drops  of  rain. 

Senor  John  fled  into  Father  Jose's  kitchen.  "  Do 
you  think  I'd  better  start  home  now?"  he  inquired, 
"  or  wait  a  while?  " 

"  Wait,"  advised  the  father.  "  There  will  be  ta- 
males  for  supper,  and  a  loaf  of  bread  heated  with 
butter.  After  a  day  like  this  one,  senor,  the  storm 
soon  passes." 

But  as  night  came  on  swiftly  the  wind  grew  to  a 
gale  and  the  rain  began  to  drive,  beating  upon  the 
panes  of  the  wide-ledged  window  like  whips  of  grass. 

Senor  John  ate  his  supper  in  silence,  getting  up 
nervously  every  now  and  then  to  open  the  front  door 
a  trifle  in  order  to  look  out,  or  he  shaded  his  eyes 
from  the  lamplight  as  he  peered  through,  the  win 
dow.  The  father  touched  little  food,  and  following 
supper  took  his  seat  in  the  cane  chair  before  the 
open  grate  of  his  stove — his  head  lowered  and  his 
eyes  closed. 

Before  long  the  young  painter  could  not  contain 
his  impatience  further.  "  I  think  I'd  better  start," 
he  said.  "  It  doesn't  act  like  quitting  for  some 
time." 

Father  Jose  rose.     "  Why  go  home  to-night  ?  "  he 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       309 

asked.  "  You  will  not  be  able  to  see  the  cross  on 
the  other  side,  seiior.  You  are  welcome  here." 

"Oh,  I  must  get  over  somehow.  They  would 
worry  about  me." 

The  father  looked  grave.  "  The  storm  still  in 
creases,"  he  said. 

The  rain  was  coming  in  sheets  against  the  window 
now,  but  at  short  intervals,  so  that  it  was  as  if  a 
white  wraith  were  returning  noisily  again  and  again 
to  peer  through  the  blurred  glass.  The  blue  blinds 
outside  the  father's  bedchamber  were  banging  for 
ward  and  back  with  a  rattle  of  loose  laths.  Upon 
the  level  roof  overhead  sounded  the  unbroken  roar  of 
the  tempest. 

"  A  cloudburst  and  a  hurricane,"  went  on  the 
father.  He  also  opened  the  front  door  a  little  to 
look  out.  "  I  have  never  seen  its  like  before,  senor. 
They  will  surely  not  expect  you  to  brave  this." 

The  young  painter's  face  had  grown  suddenly  anx 
ious.  "  But  she  might  try  to  come — looking  for 
me,"  he  said. 

"  Senorita  Roberta?  No.  She  knows  how  dan 
gerously  the  river  rises  in  a  storm  and  how  the  sands 
shift." 

Senor  John  was  pulling  his  soft  hat  down  to  his 
ears.  "  You  said  yourself,  though,  father,  that  she 
doesn't  know  what  it  means  to  be  afraid  of  the  Rio 
Grande.  I  must  go.  My  horse  is  all  right.  He'll 
take  me  over." 

"  Do  not  risk  it,"  advised  Father  Jose.  "  Listen ! " 
And  he  held  up  a  finger. 

There  was  now  a  deep  voice  in  the  tumult  outside 
— a  voice  that  boomed  in  heavy  undertones. 


310  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  It  is  the  river,  senor.      Oh,  I  shall  worry  too." 

"  I'll  yell  when  I  get  across." 

"  I  could  not  hear.  But  I  have  an  old  pistol 
which  I  took  from  a  quarrelsome  Indian."  The 
father  disappeared  into  his  bedroom  and  returned 
carrying  a  long-barrelled  revolver  of  an  old  make. 
"Fire  this  when  you  reach  the  other  side." 

"  Good-night,  Father." 

"  Good-night,  my  son." 

They  shook  hands  and  Senor  John  went  out 
through  the  door  leading  into  the  garden. 

A  little  moon-faced  clock  on  a  shelf  under  the 
white-and-gold  porcelain  marked  the  time  as  close 
upon  eight.  The  father  returned  to  his  arm-chair. 
But  now  he  kept  his  eyes  open  and  his  lips  pressed 
tight,  and  his  head  a  little  to  one  side.  Thus,  he 
waited. 

At  half-past  eight  he  got  up  and  went  to  the  front 
door.  Rain  was  still  falling  heavily,  but  the  wind 
seemed  to  have  abated  a  degree.  He  listened.  The 
river  was  speaking  with  a  medley  of  curious  voices : 
There  was  the  rise  and  fall  of  pleasant  argumenta 
tion ;  wagon-wheels  ground  over  gravel;  a  child 
whimpered;  oars  pounded  and  squeaked  in  their 
rowlocks;  steam  sang;  a  dog  snarled.  Presently  he 
made  out  the  wide  Rio  Grande  as  pools  of  glisten 
ing  black  that  moved  upon  a  dead  blackness. 

With  the  glimpse  of  that  sweeping,  inky  flood, 
fear  came  over  him.  He  called :  "  Senor  John ! 
Come  back !  Senor !  Senor!  " 

There  was  no  answer.  But  as  he  watched — shiver 
ing  a  little — a  tiny  speck  of  light  suddenly  showed 
in  the  distance,  where  stood  the  Allen  hacienda. 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       311 

"  Good !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  He  must  be  there." 
And  after  watching  and  listening  for  another  while, 
he  closed  the  door  and  went  back  to  his  chair. 

The  wind  was  plainly  lessening,  so  that  now  the 
bedroom  blinds  banged  only  occasionally — and  the 
rain  was  falling  more  gently.  He  leaned  back, 
propped  his  head  on  a  hand,  and  dozed. 

Suddenly,  he  found  himself  sitting  bolt  upright, 
clutching  either  arm  of  the  chair,  holding  his  breath. 
What  was  that?  What  had  awakened  him?  He 
seemed  to  hear  them  yet — the  dying  tones  of  a  bell ! 

His  eyes  sought  the  clock.  Four!  And  the  storm 
was  over,  for  he  could  hear  the  ticking.  He  rose. 
He  lit  the  lantern.  He  tied  the  purple-bordered 
square  of  silk  over  his  white  hair.  Then  he  hastened 
down  the  garden-walk,  out  of  the  gate,  and  toward 
the  river,  calling  with  all  his  strength. 

A  voice  answered  him  faintly,  as  if  from  the  oppo 
site  shore.  He  shouted  again.  It  was  a  girl's  voice 
— the  second  answer  made  that  certain.  Then  he 
heard  the  snort  of  a  horse,  ^splashing,  and  a  murmur 
of  encouraging  words. 

As  he  awaited  her  approch,  he  made  circles  with 
his  lantern  upon  the  river,  and  whispered  in  an  agony 
of  self-reproach:  "He  is  lost.  And  I  let  him  go! 
He  is  lost  or  she  would  not  be  seeking  him !  " 

There  were  few  clouds  in  the  sky,  and  in  the  east 
was  a  pale  lightening,  as  if  of  the  dawn.  By  hold 
ing  the  lantern  behind  him,  he  made  out  horse  and 
rider  as  they  neared. 

"Where  is  Senor  John?  "  he  called  to  the  girl. 

"  Oh!  " — it  was  a  piercing  cry.  "  Isn't  he  with 
you?  " 


312  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

The  spotted  mustang  was  pushing  through  water 
that  foamed  about  his  shoulders.  Close  to  the  bank, 
she  reined  him  and  bent  over  in  her  saddle  as  if  over 
come. 

"  No !  no!  "  Father  Jose  implored.  She  lifted  her 
head  then — he  swung  his  lantern  forward — and  saw 
the  awful  stiffness  of  her  white  face,  the  wild  terror 
of  her  eyes.  All  at  once  he  understood  what  he  had 
not  guessed  before.  "  Oh,  poor  little  woman ! "  he 
said  compassionately. 

"When  did  he  start  home?" 

"  Eight." 

"  Oh,  he  went  down !  "  Now,  she  half  turned  the 
mustang,  and  rode  against  the  current.  All  the 
while,  she  looked  about  her,  first  on  one  hand  then 
on  the  other,  and  uttered  little,  piteous,  despairing 
calls. 

"  Be  careful ! "  warned  the  father.  "  You  are 
above  the  ford." 

She  reined.  "  Where  is  the  cross  ?  He  must  have 
started  in  at  the  cross.  John !  John  ! " 

Father  Jose  hunted  about.  "  I  cannot  find  it," 
he  answered.  "  Perhaps  it  has  been  swept  away." 
Then,  hurrying  forward,  "  No ;  here  it  is — but  how 
far  up.  This  is  not  the  ford !  " 

"Father!  Someone  has  changed  the  cross!" 
Suddenly,  the  mustang  halted  as  if  in  fear.  She 
strove  to  urge  him  on,  striking  at  his  flanks  with  a 
quirt. 

"  Come  a  little  farther,"  called  Father  Jose. 

"  My  horse  is  sinking!  " 

That  moment,  with  a  shudder,  then  a  quick  back 
ward  plunge  that  struck  up  a  shower  of  spray,  the 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       313 

mustang  threw  himself  toward  the  bank  and  flound 
ered  out. 

The  girl  was  panting  and  crouching  on  her  saddle 
again.  "  The  crossing's  bad ! "  she  wept.  "  He 
rode  right  into  it.  Oh,  Father  Jose !  " 

The  father  did  not  answer.  He  had  waded  out  a 
few  steps.  And  now  as  he  stood  in  the  water,  the 
current  was  catching  at  the  bottom  of  his  gown  and 
whirling  it.  To  and  fro  he  swept  the  lantern. 

All  at  once  the  girl  sat  up  and  faced  riverward. 
"What's  that?"  she  asked.  "Didn't  you  hear  it? 
And,  look !  There — down  there,  away  out !  " 

The  light  had  grown.  She  pointed  below  them  to 
the  middle  of  the  flood.  It  had  divided  at  one  point 
and  was  running  on  either  side  of  a  sand-bar  which 
showed  above  the  surface  of  the  water.  At  the  near 
edge  of  the  bar  lay  something  black — something  that 
moved  a  little. 

Almost  before  the  father  knew  where  she  pointed, 
the  spotted  mustang  was  fighting  the  current  once 
more,  now  making  his  way  through  water  that  only 
washed  above  the  stirrups,  now  falling  suddenly  into 
deep  channels  that  he  swam.  All  the  while  she  en 
couraged  him,  or  shouted  ahead,  or  back  to  Father 
Jose. 

The  father  had  put  down  his  lantern.  Now  he 
ran  to  the  cross,  pried  it  out  of  the  sand  and  started 
along  the  bank  with  it,  stopped  at  a  point  a  little 
above  where  he  judged  she  could  come  out,  for  the 
cross  was  heavy  and  the  current  could  help  him  to 
carry  it. 

Now,  she  had  stopped  in  midstream  and  was  head 
ing  the  spotted  mustang  about.  Next,  she  had 


314  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

leaned  down  and  reached  a  hand  to  the  exhausted 
man  lying  in  water  to  his  shoulders.  Then,  very 
slowly,  the  spotted  mustang,  alternately  swimming 
and  walking  as  before,  she  began  the  return. 

She  came  on  without  a  word,  for  all  her  breath  and 
strength  were  needed  for  her  task.  Her  left  arm  was 
crooked  around  the  horn  of  her  saddle,  her  right  was 
outstretched,  still  holding  its  heavy  weight.  When 
she  had  made  half  the  distance  Father  Jose  advanced 
into  the  water  to  meet  her,  pulling  the  floating  cross 
along  at  his  side. 

Together  they  brought  Senor  John  to  shore,  he 
clinging  to  a  stirrup  at  the  last,  and  she  to  his 
sleeve,  for  her  hold  had  not  borne  the  long  strain. 
He  was  clinging  to  the  cross  as  well,  Father  Jose 
having  pressed  the  base  of  the  upright  under  the 
water  and  under  his  arm.  As  they  laid  him  upon 
the  ground,  and  the  father  wiped  at  his  face,  he 
looked  up  at  them  with  a  wan  smile. 

"  Roberta,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  "  I — was  get 
ting—tired." 

"  I  nearly  died  with  fear,"  she  answered.  "  John, 
where's  your  horse?  " 

"  Went  down." 

"  Rest  for  a  little,"  bade  the  father. 

They  all  rested,  breathing  hard — Senor  John 
lying  and  they  seated  beside  him.  But  presently  he 
struggled  up  to  a  sitting  posture,  bracing  himself  on 
one  dripping  arm. 

"Roberta,"  he  said,  his  voice  firmer  even  with  so 
short  a  respite,  "  I'm  cold." 

They  helped  him  to  stand,  and  half-carried  him  to 
the  top  of  a  low  ledge  of  sand  nearby.  ,  Then,  while 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       315 

the  father  supported  him  for  a  moment,  she  led  the 
spotted  mustang  to  the  ground  below  the  ledge,  and 
Senor  John  was  enabled  easily  to  mount. 

"  First,  to  the  store,"  said  Father  Jose,  "  for  dry 
clothing.  Then,  hot  coffee." 

Senor  John  was  too  weak  to  sit  up  in  the  saddle, 
and  leaned  forward — his  back  bowed,  his  chin  on  his 
breast,  his  hands  clasped  around  the  saddle-horn. 
"  You  won't  have  to  hold  me  on,"  he  said,  when  they 
reached  up  from  either  side.  "  No ;  I'm  all  right. 
Just  worn  out,  that's  all,  keeping  myself  from  being 
sucked  under."  He  turned  a  haggard  face  to 
Father  Jose.  "  Think !  "  he  added,  " — if  it  hadn't 
been  for  that  rock !  " 

"  A  rock,  senor?  "  demanded  the  father.  "  There 
are  no  rocks  here  in  the  Rio  Grande." 

Senor  John  lifted  a  feeble  hand  to  point.  "  You 
can  see  it,"  he  protested ;  "  a  big  one,  too,  sticking 
out  of  the  sand." 

Father  Jose  looked  out  to  where  the  channel  di 
vided  on  either  side  of  the  bar.  There  was  a  strange 
light  in  his  eyes,  and  his  cheeks  were  pale  as  he  faced 
the  dawn.  "  Something  is  there,"  he  said,  speaking 
low,  as  if  to  himself. 

The  spotted  mustang  started  now,  slowly,  with  the 
girl  walking  alongside  to  guide  him.  The  father  did 
not  follow.  He  went  down  to  the  water's  edge  in 
stead,  and  stood  watching  out  toward  the  bar  in  mid 
stream.  And  so  they  left  him. 

As  for  Senor  John,  he  was  soon  wearing  a  suit 
from  off  the  shelves  at  the  store  and  was  reviving 
after  a  smoking  draught  of  the  brew  which  Paloma's 
mother  brought.  Then  a  seat  behind  the  stove  was 


316  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

fixed  up  for  him  and  here  he  was  showered  with  at 
tention,  no  less  by  the  young  storekeeper — haggard 
as  himself — than  by  a  cluster  of  inquisitive,  but 
kindly,  Indians. 

To  one  side  loitered  Paloma,  quietly  observant 
But  when  Senor  John,  despite  his  little  audience, 
reached  up  to  kiss  the  girl  who  had  braved  the  water 
and  the  sands  to  find  him,  Paloma  approached  the 
two  and  drew  from  her  finger  the  ring  with  the 
green  stone. 

"  I  return  what  I  borrowed,"  she  said.  Her  face 
was  a  sullen  black  and  ivory,  and  when  she  walked 
away  it  was  with  an  air  somewhat  forlorn — like  that 
of  a  girl  who  has  neither  ring  nor  lover.  But  when 
she  reached  the  door  a  tinge  of  colour  rushed  into 
cheek  and  lip.  Outside,  two  .dark  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  her  from  under  a  wide  hat,  for  Anastacio  was 
hovering  near,  wrapped  in  his  serape — hovering  as 
if  he  wished  to  look  on,  yet  was  anxious  to  escape 
notice.  All  at  once,  Paloma's  pretty  head  came  high 
again  and  she  tripped  proudly  out. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  shouting  was  heard 
from  the  direction  of  the  river.  Instantly  the  crowd 
about  Senor  John  dwindled  and  started  in  loose  order 
down  the  winding  pueblo  street.  Paloma's  mother 
went  too,  joining  Paloma.  And  the  storekeeper  fol 
lowed,  bareheaded.  Then — the  shouting  had  grown 
— Senor  John  got  up  and  trailed  after  the  others, 
leaning  on  a  willing  shoulder. 

The  sun  was  up  now  and  shining  warmly.  As 
they  came  out  of  the  village  upon  the  path  which 
led  past  the  chapel,  it  glistened  on  the  wet  grey 
roofs  of  the  town  and  on  the  wide,  yellow  river. 


The  Silver  Bell  of  Los  Morales       317 

All  of  Los  Morales  was  in  front  of  them,  crying 
out  excitedly,  running,  cheering  wildly.  And  now, 
as  the  noisy  throng  parted,  here  came  a  procession, 
moving  up  the  gentle  slope  that  led  from  the  Rio 
Grande  to  the  chapel  of  San  Felipe.  Father  Jose 
led  it,  his  thin  face  uplifted  and  transformed,  his 
dark  eyes  wide,  serene  and  luminous,  his  slender 
hands  clasping  the  jet  cross  on  his  breast.  Behind 
him  trooped  the  Pueblos,  reaching  out  brown  hands 
to  touch  something  that  was  in  their  midst.  Their 
black  eyes  sparkled,  their  white  teeth  showed  with 
smiling.  At  the  center  of  the  throng  walked  six 
bright-blanketed  Indians  abreast,  a  long,  stout  pole 
in  their  hands.  And  swung  on  the  pole  through 
its  iron  loop,  with  its  clapper  wagging  as  the  six 
walked,  and  sounding  a  mellow,  clear- throated,  joy 
ous  greeting  to  all  the  town,  came  the  lost  silver 
bell  of  Los  Morales. 

The  very  morning  that  the  lilac  bush  in  a  corner 
of  the  father's  garden  showed  a  first  cockade  of 
purple  bloom  among  its  heart-shaped  leaves,  the 
silver  bell  rang  for  a  wedding — for  Paloma  married 
Anastacio,  and  wore  the  white  dress,  and  a  ring  with 
a  pearl  to  guard  her  new  gold  band.  And  the  gift 
of  the  groom  to  his  bride  was  a  fawn,  which  was  to 
have  a  garden  all  its  own.  And  the  gift  of  the 
bride's  mother  was  a  freshly-built  house  of  adobe, 
flat-roofed,  with  doors  that  were  bluer  than  any 
doors  in  the  city  of  Albuquerque,  and  with  a  trellis 
as  blue  as  the  doors.  While,  curiously  enough,  the 
gift  of  the  bride  to  the  father  was  a  yellow  custard. 

Sefior  John   and  the  girl  who   rode   the   spotted 


818  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

mustang  crossed  the  river  to  attend  the  wedding. 
(Senor  John  came,  because — in  Los  Morales — it  is 
well  to  let  sleeping  dogs  lie.)  And  when  the  cere 
mony  was  finished,  the  two  visited  a  while  with  Father 
Jose. 

"  Well,"  said  the  father  to  them  cheerfully,  "  I 
have  married  the  Spanish  peacock  off.  She  will  strut 
a  little,  no  doubt,  and  delight  in  her  own  beauty; 
perhaps  accomplish  nothing  in  her  new  life — aftes 
the  manner  of  peacocks.  But  when  it  comes  to  that, 
could  not  one  say  almost  as  much  against  my  roses? 
Yes."  As  he  talked  he  busied  himself  with  a  salad. 
In  the  bottom  of  the  white-and-gold  dish  he  first  laid 
a  slice  of  buttered  bread ;  then,  upon  the  bread,  leaf 
against  leaf,  so  that  the  effect  was  that  of  a  huge 
green  rose,  he  placed  the  lettuce,  all  glistening  with 
its  dressing  of  oil  and  vinegar;  next,  a-top  the  let 
tuce • 

But  here  Senor  John  left  the  wide-ledged  window 
and  came  forward,  smiling,  to  whisper  something 
slyly  into  his  ear.  At  that  the  father  left  his  salad 
and  seized  a  hand  of  each  of  them.  "  Senor  and 
Senora  Gordon !  "  he  cried.  "  Well,  a  double  bless 
ing  !  Ah ! — how  like  ever  seeks  out  like !  " 

And  so  surprised  was  the  good  father  at  their 
news  that  for  the  first  time  in  all  the  years  that  he 
had  possessed  the  white-and-gold  porcelain,  he  for 
got  to  add — as  a  top  to  the  big,  green  rose — the 
thin  circles  of  silvery  onion. 


THE  REVENGE  OF  MANUELITA 

MANUELITA  shooed  the  chickens  one  way, 
pursing  out  lips  as  scarlet  as  the  ripe 
cacao;  with  a  round,  copper-tinted  arm 
she  wielded  a  length  of  bamboo  to  prod 
the  pigs  the  other.  An  exit  made,  she  pulled  the 
door  shut  behind  her  to  keep  out  the  naked  babies 
cluttered  before  it  among  pigs  and  chickens,  and 
took  a  proud,  leisurely  look  up  and  down  the  double 
row  of  paja-thatched  huts. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon,  and  fairly  cool,  for  the 
almost  vertical  Venezuelan  sun  was  screened  by  the 
drab  clouds  of  a  gathering  storm.  So  the  woman 
kind  of  the  San  Jacinto  hacienda  were  before  their 
low  houses,  some  with  men  beside  them,  others  alone 
but  gossiping  volubly  to  whomever  chanced  near. 
Manuelita  bent  her  pretty  head  to  survey  the  slip 
per-like  alpargatas  Ricardo  had  just  bought  her, 
and  the  new  skirt,  bright-figured,  and  of  a  length 
that  left  the  leg  bare  from  dimpled  knee  to  foot. 
Then,  smoothing  her  little  jacket,  and  putting  her 
wide  straw  hat  at  its  jauntiest  angle,  she  set  off 
slowly  down  the  narrow,  dirty  street. 

At  some  distance  from  it  was  Antonia  Toro, 
slouching,  hands  on  hips,  in  her  own  door.  When 
she  saw  Manuelita  advancing,  she  straightened,  and 
let  her  bony  hands  fall,  clinched,  against  her  petti 
coat.  Small  eyes  half  closed  in  hate,  frowzy  head 
thrust  forward,  she  began  to  call  out,  addressing 

319 


320  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

a  neighbour,  but  aiming  her  words  at  her  successful 
rival. 

"Bah!"  she  cried,  with  a  laugh.  "Look  how 
our  parrot's  new  feathers  stick  out !  " 

Manuelita  heard,  anl  walked  more  slowly.  Her 
brown  eyes  sparkled  delightedly,  her  round  chin  went 
up,  her  red  mouth  parted  in  a  smile  over  even,  white 
teeth. 

"  Bah !  "  snorted  Antonia  again,  and  put  out  her 
tongue.  "  Let  her  strut  now.  But — ha  !  ha ! — Ri 
cardo  is  a  man  that  likes  change.  Who  knows  ?  " 

There  was  a  threat  in  the  hoarse  voice.  It  stung 
Manuelita.  She  paused. 

"  When  did  a  man  choose  a  rotten  instead  of  a 
ripe  banana?  "  she  inquired  sweetly,  and  raised  her 
plump  shoulders. 

At  that,  a  laugh  ran  from  hut  to  hut.  Antonia's 
wrath  grew. 

"  How  long  does  the  ripe  stay  ripe?  "  she  cried. 
"Ricardo  will  go.  Ha!  ha!" 

Manuelita  was  proceeding  gracefully.  Now  she 
stopped  once  more,  turning  her  full,  girlish  throat 
to  look  round. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  when  Rio  Tuy  flows  back 
to  the  mountains." 

Ricardo  came  by  Antonia's  a  little  later,  just  as 
the  last  scattered  drops  of  a  heavy  downpour  were 
falling.  He  was  mud  to  the  waist,  muddy  of  face, 
and  dripping.  One  hand  was  busy  with  a  cigarette ; 
from  a  finger  of  the  other,  by  their  heel  straps,  hung 
his  alpargatas.  He  had  been  out  since  noon,  walk 
ing  across  the  ditches  of  the  hacienda. 

Again  Antonia  was  slouching  in  her  door. 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelito,          321 

"Loan  me  your  fire,  Ricardo?  "  she  asked. 

He  glanced  up  the  street  uneasily,  then  halted 
and  lit  the  long  cigar  she  was  preparing. 

"  Ah,  but  you  are  tired,"  she  went  on,  with  a 
great  show  of  concern,  "  and  wet  to  the  skin.  Come, 
will  you  enter?  Juan  is  gone,  and  for  good — a 
Dios  graciasl  I  never  liked  him.  He  was  stingy 
and  ugly  and  old.  Come " 

"  Where  is  he  gone?  "  asked  Ricardo,  making  no 
move  toward  accepting  her  invitation. 

"Where?"  she  repeated,  between  puffs.  "To 
join  the  Revolutionists  at  Rio  Chico.  He  is  anx 
ious  to  fight,  he  said.  He  fight !  " 

Ricardo's  pale  face  widened  in  a  grin. 

"  Maybe  you  taught  him,"  he  suggested  slyly. 
She  understood.  "  Ah,  now,  Ricardo,  you  are  wrong. 
Yes,  you  are  wrong.  Once  I  was  quick-tempered, 
perhaps.  But  I  am  not  brava  now.  No,  no.  I 
have  learned  better.  And  Juan  was  happy  with 
me." 

Ricardo  was  sober  again.  Suddenly,  nostrils 
swelling,  he  threw  up  his  head. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  of  going  to  join  La  Gente, 
too,"  he  said. 

"  Do  not  be  a  fool,"  Antonia  returned.  "  Within 
the  hour  I  start  for  Carenero.  But  " — her  voice 
was  lowered  engagingly — "  I  will  stay  here  if  you 
wish  it," 

But  Ricardo,  having  tossed  aside  his  cigarette, 
was  pulling  nervously  at  a  curly  lock  and  edging 
away. 

"  Adios"  he  said,  with  more  troubled  glances  to 
ward  home.  "  A  pleasant  journey.  Adios" 


322  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  Adios"  echoed  the  other  regretfully. 

All  this  while,  from  her  one  window,  Manuelita 
had  been  watching.  She  had  seen  Ricardo  stop  be 
fore  Antonia's,  seen  him  light  her  tabaco,  and  their 
talking  back  and  forth.  And  as  he  started  for  his 
hut  once  more,  she  scolded  to  herself  in  a  passionate 
undertone,  she  stamped  the  floor  with  an  angry 
foot.  He  had  made  of  her  an  object  for  further 
taunting.  He  had  made  her  the  laughingstock  of 
the  San  Jacinto. 

"  Madre  de  Dios!  "  she  exclaimed  over  and  over, 
her  lips  white  with  rage  and  mortification.  "  But 
I  shall  punish  him  for  this !  " 

Ricardo  had  scarce  entered,  her  name  on  his 
tongue,  when  the  full  volume  of  her  ire  burst  upon 
him  with  tropical  rigor  and  suddenness. 

"  So  you  have  been  to  see  that  crooked  face," 
she  cried  furiously.  "  You  sneak,  you !  you  that 
are  full  of  lies !  " 

Not  altogether  surprised,  he  strove  to  meet  her 
attack  by  replying,  to  stem  it  through  endearments. 
She  would  not  hear.  She  would  have  none  of  his 
caresses.  And  he  could  do  nothing  but  seat  him 
self  on  a  bull's-hide  chair,  rest  his  chin  somewhat 
sheepishly  on  his  breast,  and  listen. 

"  Oh,  I  will  not  stay  with  you  another  day,"  she 
vowed,  breath  and  wits  taxed  at  last  for  epithets. 
"  I,  a  girl  that  all  have  desired,  that  could  have  a 
better  house,  yes,  one  covered  with  pink  stucco,  and 
finer  clothes,  and  shoes,  and  even  a  ring  or  two,  and 
no  work,  and  all  the  cigarettes  I  want — here  I  am 
with  you,  who  are  coiled  like  a  culebra,  ready  to 
sting,  to  kill.  You  coward !  " 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelito,          323 

"  I  have  always  treated  you  well,"  retorted  Ri- 
cardo  sulkily,  "  and  I  am  not  a  coward.  I  shall 
show  you.  I  shall  go  to  fight  with  the  Revolution 
ists." 

"  Go,  go,  go,"  she  answered.  "  /  shall  not  mourn. 
You  cannot  shame  me  before  them  all.  Go,  and  take 
her  with  you !  " 

She  flung  herself  upon  the  bed,  without  a  look  at 
him,  without  a  thought  for  their  supperless  baby, 
curled  up  on  a  gunny  sack  by  the  door.  There,  worn 
out  with  the  violence  of  her  quarrelling,  she  sobbed 
herself  to  sleep. 

Late  in  the  night  she  awoke  suddenly  and  sat  up. 
She  was  cold;  she  felt  alone;  she  was  startled,  too, 
as  if  something  direful  had  happened.  Forgetting 
her  wrongs  in  her  fear,  she  reached  out  her  arms  and 
called  softly.  The  cubierta  was  not  spread  over  her. 
Only  the  under  blanket  was  left  upon  the  rushes  of 
the  bed.  And  Ricardo  was  not  by  her  side!  She 
sprang  out  upon  the  floor,  feeling  this  way  and 
that. 

"Ricardo!  Where  are  you?"  she  demanded. 
"  Answer.  You  will  have  me  wakening  Ninito  next." 

She  touched  the  reed  partition,  the  table,  the 
chairs.  Then  she  lit  the  Idmpara  and  held  it  above 
her,  looking  into  every  corner  of  the  living  room  and 
the  kitchen.  He  was  not  in  the  hut! 

On  the  instant  she  was  like  one  gone  mad. 

"  Madre  de  Dios!  "  she  gasped.  "  They  are  to 
gether!" 

She  set  the  lamp  on  the  table,  snatched  up  a  flat, 
spear-shaped  lanza,  and  raced  off  down  the  street. 
Arrived  at  Antonia's,  she  entered  swiftly. 


324  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

By  the  light  of  the  single  window,  that,  here, 
faced  the  moon,  she  saw  that  the  room  was  de 
serted. 

In  her  own  home,  once  more,  she  examined  the  mud 
walls  closely.  Ah! — the  new  machete  was  gone  from 
its  nail!  And,  farther  along,  the  carved  gourd 
flask  that  held  aguardiente!  They  had  left  the 
hacienda! 

She  blew  out  the  light  and  took  her  stand  by  the 
door.  Her  eyes  blazed  with  hatred  and  anger.  She 
gave  out  little  inarticulate  cries.  She  shook  the 
keen-pointed  lanza  at  the  hut  down  the  street. 

For  a  long  time,  thus.  Then  she  grew  quieter, 
and  leaned  back  wearily  against  the  wall.  Then  she 
slipped  down  to  a  sitting  posture  on  the  ground, 
and  her  head  drooped  forward  to  her  knees. 

The  day  broke,  the  pigs  came  up,  grunting  and 
rooting.  A  chicken  flew  to  her  shoulder  and  pecked 
at  a  bright  flower  in  her  waist.  She  looked  up,  and 
the  memory  of  her  quarrel  and  her  loss  came  back. 
She  groaned  and  covered  her  face. 

From  across  the  street  her  mother  saw  her  and 
scented  trouble.  She  came  waddling  over,  her  shriv 
elled  face  all  anxiety. 

"What  is  it,  Manuelita?"  she  asked.  "Is  the 
nino  dead?  "  Then,  spying  the  baby,  "  Or,  per 
haps,  a  pig?  " 

Manuelita  shook  her  head. 

The  old  woman  peered  about  her,  searching  for 
the  cause  of  the  trouble. 

"  What,  then,  what  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Ricardo  is  gone !  " 

The  other  stared. 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelito,         325 

"Gone!"  she  repeated  in  a  tone  of  disgust; 
"  gone!  Do  you  say  that  you  are  deserted?  Nine 
teen,  only,  and  deserted.  Pst !  You  are  a  fool !  I 
kept  your  father  beside  me  until  I  was  more  than 
twenty-five !  " 

"  Oh,  mamma !  "  It  was  a  plaintive,  heart-broken 
cry. 

"  But  there  is  no  use  to  snivel  over  it.  What  will 
you  do?  Do  not  make  a  fuss  outside  here,  for  all 
the  men  to  see.  Be  up,  and  act  gay.  Now,  there 
is  Felipe,  the  younger  one.  He  gets  four  reales  a 
day  in  the  cacao  court.  He  is  worth  something,  I 
can  tell  you.  And  there  is  Juan.  As  you  know, 
Antonia  Toro " 

Now,  Manuelita  looked  up,  and  her  whole  body 
trembled  with  fury. 

"  Antonia !  "  she  repeated  hoarsely.  "  He  has 
gone  with  her !  " 

"So?"  The  old  woman  looked  incredulous. 
Then  she  hitched  a  shoulder.  "  Ah,  well,  no  matter. 
You  have  chickens  and  pigs,  and  you  are  but  nine 
teen.  You  have  only  one  baby,  too,  and  he  is  not 
much  trouble.  Soon  he  will  be  old  enough  to  look 
out  for  himself.  Why  " — in  a  burst  of  generosity 
— "  I  will  take  him  off  your  hands  myself  for  a  while. 
Get  up." 

In  her  eagerness,  she  put  out  a  claw  of  a  hand 
to  pull  at  her  daughter's  sleeve. 

"  Ah !  mamma !  mamma !  "  Manuelita's  voice  was 
deeper  now,  almost  a  groan.  "  You  forget,  mamma, 
— Felipe  is  not  Ricardo." 

"  Bah !  Ricardo !  He  is  gone.  Look  you — look 
you,  there  is  Felipe  now !  " 


326  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

"  No — no,"  Manuelita  protested,  raising  a  tear- 
stained  face. 

Felipe  was  indeed  coming  up  the  street.  He  looked 
angry  too,  and  was  rubbing  his  kinky  hair  at  every 
step. 

"  Where  is  Ricardo?  "  he  demanded  as  soon  as 
he  was  within  hearing.  "  Where  is  he,  I  say  ?  Why 
should  I  work  if  he  does  not?  " 

And  now  such  a  mingling  of  voices — Felipe  re 
peating  questions  to  which  he  received  no  answer; 
the  old  woman  boldly  stating  Manuelita's  new  do 
mestic  status;  the  girl  crying  out  against  her  moth 
er's  hasty  planning. 

But  after  a  time,  when  matters  became  clear  to 
Felipe,  he  fell  silent  to  ponder,  and  the  old  woman 
quieted  to  await  his  reply.  As  for  Manuelita,  she 
was  sobbing  a  determination.  "  I  shall  follow,  I 
shall  follow,"  she  declared.  "  And  when  I  find  them, 
I  shall  kill!" 

"  Felipe  can  go  along,"  suggested  her  mother, 
"  and  help  you." 

Manuelita  glanced  at  Felipe,  and  recoiled. 

"Where  have  they  gone?"  he  asked  her.  "Do 
you  know?  " 

"  He  took  our  cubierta,  the  new  machete,  and  a 
flask.  Yesterday  he  threatened  to  join  the  Revo 
lutionists." 

"  He  will  go  either  to  Tacarigua  or  to  Rio  Chico, 
in  that  case,"  Felipe  declared.  He  began  to  look 
dubious.  Laying  an  index  finger  in  the  palm  of  a 
hand,  he  did  some  calculating.  It  would  take  not 
less  than  so  many  days,  perhaps.  At  four  reales 
each  day — he  counted  on  his  fingers.  "  Out  so  much 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelito,         327 

for  just  a  woman!  "  he  concluded.  "  I  will  not  do 
it." 

But  Manuelita  did  not  hear.  She  was  on  her  feet 
and  getting  ready  to  leave.  The  baby,  awake  and 
hungry,  seemed  to  know  her  purpose.  He  began  a 
lusty  howling. 

"  Take,  mamma."  She  pushed  him  toward  her 
mother. 

The  old  woman  caught  the  squalling  child  between 
her  knees,  hastily  lit  a  tabaco,  put  it  between  her 
toothless  gums  to  make  it  burn,  and  gave  it  to  him. 
He  grew  still  at  once,  seized  the  long  cigar  in  both 
little  hands,  and  fell  to  smoking  industriously. 

"  Foolish  !  foolish !  "  she  scolded.  "  And  you  will 
have  your  trouble  for  naught.  Can  you  hold  a  man 
who  does  not  want  you?  No  woman  can  do  that. 
You  had  better  stay." 

Manuelita  ignored  the  advice.  She  was  putting 
the  last  touches  to  her  preparations.  In  a  bright 
cotton  handkerchief  she  tied  a  comb,  several  baked 
plantains,  some  round  thick  arepas  made  of  mashed 
corn,  and  her  cigarettes ;  she  swung  her  straw  hat 
over  one  arm  and  dropped  the  lanza  into  a  sheath 
of  inlaid  leather  at  her  belt.  Then,  without  a  glance 
at  mother,  child,  or  neighbour,  she  went  rapidly  up 
the  street  and  entered  the  cacao  under  low-hanging 
branches. 

But  soon  she  paused  to  consider  a  moment.  What 
if  she  were  travelling  the  wrong  way !  Suppose  they 
had  gone  in  an  easterly  direction,  toward  Rio  Chico. 
Yet,  no,  for  Juan  was  there.  Besides,  since  the 
hacienda  of  San  Jacinto,  a  portion  of  the  northern 
half  of  the  plain  of  Barlovento,  curves  in  to  meet 


328  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

the  Rio  Tuy,  the  couple  would  have  had  to  cross  the 
swollen  stream  at  the  very  start.  They  would  go 
north,  to  Tacarigua.  She  was  sure  of  that.  And, 
taking  off  her  aHpargatas,  she  walked  in  a  great 
semicircle,  looking  for  fresh  footprints. 

Across  ditch  after  ditch  she  went,  through  black 
water  and  blacker  ooze.  Sometimes  her  steps  were 
sure,  more  often  she  sank  to  the  knees,  or  fell,  her 
hands  flattening  against  a  ditch  side. 

She  found  fresh  footprints  in  countless  numbers, 
and  leading  toward  every  point  of  the  compass. 
Some  had  been  made  by  naked  feet,  some  by  al- 
pargatas.  Some  were  long  and  wide,  some  were 
short  and  more  narrow.  She  was  bewildered  by 
them. 

"  Ah!     Madre  de  Dios!  "  she  faltered. 

Presently,  pointing  northward,  she  found  two  sets, 
the  one  plainly  a  man's,  the  other  smaller.  They 
were  new,  too,  for  the  ooze  still  stood  in  them.  In 
stantly  her  attention  fixed  upon  these.  She  flound 
ered  after  them,  rod  upon  rod,  as  certain  that  she 
was  upon  the  right  trail  as  if  she  could  see  Ricardo 
and  the  woman  ahead  of  her.  Here  the  footprints 
were  close  together — she  ground  her  teeth.  Here 
they  were  farther  apart.  And  here  some  one  had 
stumbled,  for  there  was  the  mark  of  a  naked  palm 
on  the  soft  earth.  She  laughed,  and  stroked  the 
handle  of  the  lanza. 

When  the  tracks  left  the  hacienda  of  San  Jacinto 
they  entered  that  of  its  northern  neighbour — Gue 
vara.  Here  they  made  a  detour  to  avoid  the  cacao 
court  and  huts  of  the  plantation's  workers.  Then  on 
again,  through  mud  and  mire,  keeping  always 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelito,          329 

straight  toward  Tacarigua.  Farther  still,  when  this 
hacienda  was  crossed,  they  entered  the  rough  path 
leading  northward  through  the  forest,  and  were 
lost. 

At  midday  Manuelita  stopped  at  a  deep-shadowed 
spot  on  the  road  to  eat  a  meal  of  baked  plantain 
and  arepa.  The  monkeys  jabbered  down  at  her. 
Now  and  then  she  heard  strange  movements  close 
by  in  the  jungle.  But  she  felt  no  fear.  A  few  mo 
ments  for  food,  a  pull  at  a  water-filled  gourd  flask, 
a  few  crumbs  to  a  lizard,  blinking — head  downward 
— from  a  tree  trunk  at  her  elbow,  and  she  trotted 
on. 

It  was  the  hour  before  sunset  when,  through  a 
tangle,  she  peered  out  from  the  forest's  edge.  Be 
fore  her  was  a  shallow  stream,  muddy  though  it 
was  flowing  over  a  bed  of  pebbles.  Beyond,  a 
cluster  of  red,  tiled  roofs,  was  Tacarigua.  Taca 
rigua  !  And  they  were  there ! 

She  opened  her  bundle  for  the  comb;  bathed 
quickly  face,  arms,  and  from  foot  to  knee,  and  care 
fully  rubbed  away  the  caked  dirt  marring  the  bright 
figures  of  her  skirt.  Then,  with  the  sun  looking 
back  from  the  ragged  range  of  La  Silla  de  Caracas, 
and  a  breeze  beginning  to  stir  the  leaves  that  fringed 
the  water,  she  slipped  on  her  alpargatas,  took  the 
path  again,  and  entered  the  village. 

General  Blanco  Alcantara,  in  command  of  the 
Revolutionary  force  at  Tacarigua,  sat  upon  his 
horse  before  the  green-walled  Jefetura  Civil.  He 
looked  quite  imposing.  A  broad  hat,  wound  in  the 
blue  of  his  cause,  was  set  rakishly  upon  his  black 


330  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

hair.  A  wide  sash  of  webbed  stuff  in  the  same  blue 
ran  over  his  right  shoulder  and  was  wrinkled  into 
the  loop  of  his  sabre  scabbard,  from  which,  knotted, 
it  fell,  ends  free,  to  a  silver  spur. 

Near  him,  lounging  upon  the  steps  of  the  build 
ing,  were  several  officers,  smoking,  talking,  and  evi 
dently  waiting.  To  one  side,  also  occupied  with  their 
tabacos  and  gossip,  were  as  many  asistentes,  wait 
ing,  too,  and  looking  as  important  as  the  discarded 
apparel  of  their  superiors  would  permit. 

When  Manuelita  approached  the  general,  he  was 
looking  down  his  straight  nose  at  the  cigarette  he 
was  rolling  in  his  fingers.  But  at  the  sound  of  her 
voice  close  to  his  stirrup,  he  turned  his  deep-set  black 
eyes  upon  her. 

"  Senor  general,"  she  began,  quaveringly. 

He  saw  eyes  as  dark  as  his  own,  a  pale  face  scarce 
younger.  And  his  short  upper  lip,  under  its  wiry 
moustache,  lifted  a  little,  in  what  was  meant  to  be 
a  smile. 

"  At  your  order,  senorita,"  he  replied. 

And  now  he  saw  the  girl's  eyes  widen  and  flash, 
saw  the  red  of  anger  run  into  lip  and  cheek. 

"  Senor  general,"  she  continued  huskily,  "  there 
is  a  man — one  Ricardo  Villegas — who  last  night  left 
the  hacienda  San  Jacinto  to  come  to  Tacarigua  and 
join  La  Revolution.  Leaving,  he  took  with  him  our 
cubierta,  a  new  machete,  and — a  woman." 

The  general  laughed. 

"  That  man  of  yours  was  equipped  for  fighting," 
he  said. 

She  was  clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands  with 
nervous  intensity. 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelito,          331 

"  He  had  best  be  so,"  she  answered,  "  when  next 
he  meets  me." 

"  You  will  not  meet  him  here." 

"  No  ?  no  ?  " — quickly.  Suspicion  darkened  her 
face.  She  drew  back.  The  general  was  lying,  doubt 
less,  to  save  a  much-needed  soldier  from  his  de 
serts. 

"  No,"  went  on  Alcantara,  lighting  his  cigarette, 
"  you  will  not  find  him  here.  I  have  one  hundred 
men,  but  each  has  been  with  me  since  before  the  be 
ginning  of  the  wet  season.  No  one  has  joined  me  of 
late." 

She  turned  about,  half  murmuring)  to  herself, 
and  made  as  if  to  go. 

"  He  went  the  other  way,  perhaps,"  suggested 
the  general ;  "  to  Rio  Chico,  where  is  another  force 
of  Los  Salvadores." 

She  came  round  upon  him,  arms  raised,  set  teeth 
showing  between  lips  that  were  pale  again. 

"  I  go  to  Rio  Chico,"  she  said. 

"And  he  will  be  gone — wait,  wait!  General 
Pablo  Montilla  leaves  Rio  Chico  to-night  with  his 
column." 

"I  shall  follow." 

"  I  join  him  with  my  men  at  dawn." 

He  saw  the  light  of  a  terrible  hope  illuminate  her 
countenance.  She  came  to  his  stirrup  again. 

"  Senor  general,"  she  pleaded,  "  let  me  go  with 
your  soldiers.  I  am  young  and  strong — I  can  cook 
— I  can  carry  a  load " 

Alcantara  puckered  his  lips  teasingly,  looking1 
down  at  her.  He  marked  the  plump,  well  rounded 
figure,  the  clear,  copper-coloured  skin  with  its  scar- 


332  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

let  touches  on  mouth  and  cheek,  the  long  braid,  the 
full,  girlish  throat. 

"  You   go,"  he  said. 

Child  as  she  was,  she  knew  the  men  of  Venezuela, 
and  she  saw  and  understood  his  look. 

"  I  go  for  revenge,  Senor  general,"  she  declared 
meaningly.  "  If  you  are  so  good  as  to  allow  me  to 
follow  you,  I — I  will  be  safe?  Else  I  walk  far  in 
the  rear — alone." 

"  As  you  like,"  answered  Alcantara.  "  There  will 
be  two  other  women  along — Maria,  who  goes  with 
one  of  my  coroneles,  and  La  Negrita,  the  woman  of 
the  black  general,  Pedro  Tovar.  You  may  march 
with  them." 

"  And  when  will  you  start?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 
"When?" 

"  We  thirst  for  the  blood  of  Ricardo  Villegas," 
laughed  Alcantara.  "Well " 

A  squad  was  approaching,  led  by  a  determined- 
looking  officer.  Two  of  his  men  carried  large- 
calibre  German  Mausers,  the  third  had  a  Mauser 
and  a  canvas  money  bag,  and  the  fourth  a  Mauser 
and  a  rope. 

"  Comisario,9'  said  the  general,  as  the  latter 
shuffled  near  and  saluted,  "  what  raciones  have  you 
collected?  " 

An  expression  of  defeat  spread  upon  the  com 
missary's  countenance.  He  shook  his  head  deject 
edly,  and,  reaching  round,  seized  and  brought  for 
ward  the  money  bag. 

"  These  unreasonable,  these  unpatriotic  people !  " 
he  began  with  heat.  "  Actually  they  decline  to  give 
up  their  miserable  savings.  Observe !  " 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelito,          333 

Alcantara  peeked  into  the  bag.  "  Oh,  not  so  bad," 
he  said.  "  But  perhaps  a  better  display  of  the 
rope " 

The  other  nodded.  "  I  promise  you  they  will  be 
loyal."  Then,  his  face  more  determined  than  be 
fore,  the  commissary  departed.  Behind  came  the 
squad,  the  Mausers,  the  bag,  and  the  noose. 

The  general  addressed  Manuelita.  "  We  shall 
start  at  sunset,"  he  said.  "But  you?  You  have 
walked  all  day,  you  say." 

"  It  does  not  matter.  I  will  walk  all  night,  gladly, 
gladly'" 

He  bent  to  arrange  the  knot  of  his  sash.  When 
he  turned  back  again  she  was  gone. 

At  sunset  the  soldiers  of  Alcantara  left  the  huts 
where  they  had  been  quartered  and  gathered  in  the 
Plaza.  Ragged  and  dirty  they  were,  and  unshaven. 
Some  of  them  were  part  Indian,  with  straight  black 
hair  and  copper-coloured  skins.  Others  were  negroes 
or  half-castes,  with  flat  noses  and  kinky  heads.  But 
all  were  without  uniforms.  Their  drill  trousers  were 
of  different  colours,  and  held  up  by  lengths  of  string 
or  rope.  Their  tight-fitting,  collarless  shirts,  made 
of  a  cheap  woven  material,  were  as  vari-coloured. 
Even  their  little  jackets,  that  buttoned  up  to  the 
neck  and  were  brought  in  at  the  waist  under  a  cart 
ridge  belt,  were  not  of  the  same  shade  or  kind.  Here 
and  there  among  them,  stripped  of  its  red  trimmings, 
showed  the  khaki  uniform  of  the  government — spoil 
of  a  battlefield.  All  wore  alpargatas;  and  those 
fortunate  enough  possessed  straw  hats  of  generous 
circumference  or  brown,  furry  pelo  de  guamas,  which 
displayed,  on  a  narrow  divisa  sewed  around  the 


334  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

crown,  the  corps  and  division  of  the  fighter  beneath. 
Over  the  left  shoulder  of  some  of  the  men,  and 
passed  under  the  belt,  was  a  rolled,  double-wool 
poncho,  the  blue  side  out,  if  it  so  happened,  but 
quite  as  often,  in  unconscious  treason,  the  other, 
which  was  dyed  the  red  of  the  enemy. 

Despite  the  commissary's  promise  of  loyalty,  when 
the  soldiers  came  together  there  were  no  cheers  from 
the  townspeople,  who,  gathering  to  see  the  depart 
ure,  chattered  in  undertones  among  themselves,  and 
eyed  the  motley  force  in  illy  concealed  dislike. 

And  now,  obeying  the  call  of  a  battered  bugle, 
the  start  was  made.  First  down  the  street  came 
General  Blanco  Alcantara,  in  fine  style ;  then  the 
black  general,  Tovar,  astride  a  lanky  horse;  after 
these,  a  bevy  of  mounted  officers — three  coroneles, 
two  c.ommandantes,  and  two  capitanes;  the  privates 
— on  foot  and  in  no  formation ;  the  asistentes,  loaded 
down  with  the  personal  effects  of  their  superiors ; 
and  several  burros  and  mules  carrying  pack  saddles 
heavy  with  ammunition ;  next,  each  with  a  bundle 
balanced  on  her  head,  a  hat  hung  to  her  arm,  a  gourd 
and  a  smoky  pail  swinging  and  clinking  together 
at  her  side,  and  a  long  tabaco  in  her  mouth,  two 
women;  last  of  all,  a  padre,  in  cassock  and  shovel 
hat,  riding  a  gaited  mule. 

The  third  woman  to  accompany  the  expedition 
was  on  the  edge  of  the  town,  where  the  road  to 
Higuerote  opens  into  the  forest.  She  was  watching 
as  she  rested,  eating  an  arepa  and  the  remaining 
plantain.  As  Alcantara  rode  into  sight,  she  stood 
up,  her  eyes  shining,  her  lips  parted,  her  head  erect. 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelita          335 

The  command  by,  she  walked  forward  sturdily  and 
fell  in  behind. 

Night  was  falling  then,  but  she  was  soon  spied  by 
those  in  the  rear.  Presently,  these  had  told  others, 
and  the  soldiers  stretched  their  necks  to  look  back 
to  where  she  trudged.  There  was  some  whispering 
among  those  nearest  her,  and  presently  the  padre 
reined  a  little  to  speak. 

"  You  were  not  with  us  when  we  left  the  town," 
he  said.  "  How  come  you  to  be  here?  " 

"  I  wish  to  go  to  Higuerote,"  she  answered,  but 
would  explain  no  further. 

Seeing  her  questioned,  one  of  the  asistentes,  a 
kindly  old  man,  fell  back  to  offer  her  a  cigarette. 
She  took  it  gratefully. 

u  And  do  you  ignore  the  Church?  "  demanded  the 
padre  reprovingly. 

The  asistente  handed  over  a  cigarette,  and  soon 
the  three  were  journeying  forward  together. 

The  night  breeze  swept  over  them  as  they  went, 
making  the  .way  cool,  and  bringing  with  it  the 
fragrance  of  growing  things.  But  their  travelling 
was  difficult.  The  road  was  only  a  cart's  width, 
hard  and  stony,  rising  and  falling,  too,  on  broken 
ground.  There  was  no  moon  over  the  first  third  of 
the  journey,  and  every  little  while  a  jaguar,  scenting 
their  passing,  howled  out  at  them  from  the  dark, 
vine-hung  forest  lining  the  march. 

Bit  by  bit  Manuelita  told  her  companions  the  story 
of  Ricardo's  flight.  As  the  padre  listened,  his 
round,  florid  face  grew  solemn,  and  he  poked  out  his 
under  lip  dubiously.  The  asistente,  on  the  other 


336  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

hand,  swore  often  and  pityingly,  so  that  the  good 
priest  was  kept  busy  crossing  himself. 

"  And  have  you  come  all  the  way  from  the  haci 
enda  San  Jacinto  to-day?  "  asked  the  soldier. 

"  Since  morning,"  Manuelita  answered. 

"  In  that  case,"  interposed  the  padre,  settling 
himself  in  the  saddle,  "  to  make  your  walking  more 
easy,  you  may  hold  to  the  tail  of  my  mule  on  the 
up  grades." 

Not  long  after,  they  were  forced  to  cover  their 
faces  and  cease  talking.  For  before  the  night  was 
half  gone,  the  moon  topped  the  trees,  showing  its 
great,  burnished  shield  upon  the  starlit  sky.  And 
with  the  rising  of  the  moon  the  forest  thinned,  the 
way  beame  more  level,  but  sandy,  the  walking  ex 
tremely  heavy,  and  legions  of  hungry  mosquitoes 
came  swarming  upon  them.  The  padre's  mule,  tor 
mented  by  the  pests,  made  the  middle  of  the  track 
dangerous  for  Manuelita.  She  fell  back,  and  walked 
in  silence  beside  the  old  orderly.  Once  she  uncovered 
to  ask  him  how  far  they  had  got. 

"  Halfway,"  he  answered,  when  she  murmured  a 
thanksgiving. 

Later  she  again  spoke :  "  And  how  long  before 
Higuerote  is  near?  " 

"  Three  hours,"  he  replied. 

Her  hands  stole  to  her  belt. 

"  Only  one  day  and  one  night,"  she  said,  "  and 
yet  I  am  almost  upon  them !  " 

But  she  was  miserably  tired  by  now,  and  many 
times  would  have  stumbled  to  her  knees  had  not 
the  asistente  supported  her.  He  gave  her  frequent 
draughts  from  his  aguardiente  flask,  and  little  lumps 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelito,          337 

of  damp  brown  sugar  out  of  a  canvas  bag  at  his 
thigh.  The  padre,  riding  just  in  advance,  looked 
back  often  to  speak  encouragement,  and  as  often 
called  the  asistente  forward  to  levy  upon  him  for  a 
cigarette. 

Bravely  Manuelita  persevered.  Toward  morning 
her  brain  seemed  to  wander,  for  she  talked  meaning 
less  things  to  the  old  man  lagging  beside  her.  But 
a  moment's  rest,  a  swallow  of  drink,  a  whispered  re 
minder,  and  she  struggled  forward. 

"  Santa  Maria!  "  was  her  petition,  "  only  give 
me  strength !  " 

The  yellow  moon  had  gone  and  the  dawn  was  near 
when,  having  arrived  at  three  great  sand  hummocks 
thrown  up  close  to  the  road,  General  Alcantara  drew 
rein.  Noiselessly  the  soldiers  laid  down  their  pon 
chos,  partook  of  cold  coffee  and  a  little  food,  and 
stretched  themselves  for  a  brief  rest.  The  horses  of 
the  officers  and  the  ammunition  animals  were  led  to 
one  side,  where  they  might  crop  the  grass  growing 
about  in  clumps.  Alcantara  and  Pedro  Tovar  walked 
apart,  conversing.  The  padre  guided  his  mule  to 
one  side  and,  out  of  his  saddle,  was  soon  drowsing 
as  comfortably  as  the  mosquitoes  would  permit; 
while  Manuelita  sought  the  women,  who  were  smok 
ing,  and  squatted  on  the  sand  beside  them,  her 
face  to  the  east,  her  lips  moving  with  soundless 
words. 

Swiftly  the  day  came.  A  moment  of  little  light, 
another  that  was  brighter,  and  the  stars  dimmed. 
Then  the  unkempt  force  got  to  their  feet  and  moved 
on — cartridge  belts  filled  and  machetes  slipped  under 
them.  Above,  floating  on  white-tipped  wings,  fol- 


338  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

lowed  a  score  of  the  bald  black  samuro,  their  curved 
beaks  lowered  in  horrid  watchfulness. 

When  the  sun  rose,  the  company  made  a  second 
halt,  behind  a  line  of  scrub  growth.  From  here  Gen 
eral  Alcantara,  dismounting,  went  forward  alone  on 
hands  and  knees.  He  stopped  while  yet  in  the  shelter 
of  the  dense  underbrush  and  stood  up.  To  his  left 
lay  a  town — tile-roofed,  low  houses,  three  rows  of 
them,  two  rows  having  their  back  yards  to  the  sea. 
Beyond  these  was  a  gently  shelving  beach  strewn 
with  the  unpainted,  dugout  canoes  of  fishermen.  Still 
farther,  dotted  here  and  there  with  a  dingy  sail, 
was  the  blue  of  the  Caribbean,  its  outermost  edge 
moving  up  and  down  upon  the  paler  blue  of  the  sky. 
To  his  right,  some  two  hundred  yards  away,  was 
the  curving  line  of  a  railroad,  then  beach  and  boats, 
then  sea  again.  And  in  the  very  foreground,  seated 
on  the  sand,  under  a  sagging  telegraph  wire,  was  a 
man  in  khaki,  fast  asleep,  with  his  gun,  muzzle  end 
down,  in  a  land-crab  hole. 

Alcantara  now  lowered  himself  again  to  creep  on, 
and  a  moment  later  the  sentry  awoke  and  found  him 
self  a  prisoner. 

Presently,  from  the  south,  there  sounded  a  faint 
rumble.  And  soon,  far  down  the  rusty  rails,  ap 
peared  a  train.  Alcantara  gave  a  signal  to  those 
who  had  come  up  from  behind,  and  at  once  the  Rev 
olutionists  in  khaki  gathered  the  officers'  mounts 
and,  taking  the  captured  sentry  with  them,  went 
back  along  the  road  to  the  shelter  of  the  sand  hum 
mocks.  The  padre  turned  his  gaited  mule  and  single- 
footed  after  them,  concern  written  large  on  his 
round,  florid  face.  The  rest  of  the  company  dis- 


The  Revenge  of  Manudita          339 

played  their  agitation.  The  soldiers  craned  and 
gestured,  or  examined  their  arms.  La  Negrita  and 
the  other  woman  chattered  under  their  breath.  The 
two  capitanes  ran  to  and  fro  between  Alcantara  and 
the  black  general,  taking  and  bringing  messages. 
The  men  with  the  pack  animals  proceeded  slowly 
toward  the  road  gap  in  the  shielding  shrub.  Only 
one  of  them  all  was  giving  the  hour  a  solemn  be 
ginning.  This  was  Manuelita,  kneeling,  bareheaded, 
in  the  sand,  her  hands  clasped,  her  eyes  closed,  her 
face  upturned. 

"  Santa  Maria!  "  she  whispered,  for  once  more 
she  was  praying. 

When  the  train  was  less  than  half  a  mile  away 
Alcantara  drew  a  small  blue  flag  from  his  breast. 
It  was  of  flimsy  muslin,  and  showed  at  its  centre  a 
cross  of  yellow,  blue,  and  red.  The  general,  having 
unfolded  it,  held  it  in  his  right  hand,  so  low  that 
it  could  not  be  seen  from  the  town.  Instantly  simi 
lar  colours  were  waved  from  the  engine  cab.  Again 
Alcantara  signalled  those  behind,  and  the  black  gen 
eral  led  them  forward.  At  their  front  was  borne 
a  large  flag  of  the  cause,  fastened  to  a  bamboo  pole. 

When  the  train  had  crawled  abreast  of  the  Taca- 
rigua  force,  its  antique,  ramshackle  coaches  came 
to  a  stop.  Out  of  them  tumbled  some  sixty  soldiers, 
the  heavy-set  Pablo  Montilla  commanding.  Alcan 
tara  saluted  silently  and  made  off  with  two-thirds  of 
his  own  men  straight  along  the  track  toward  a  rail 
road  bridge  in  the  town.  As  quietly,  Tovar  took  the 
remaining  third,  joined  Montilla,  and  started  toward 
a  second  bridge,  which  crossed  the  Rio  Curiepe  at 
the  main  street.  The  train  backed.  The  ammuni- 


340  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

tion-mules  and  -burros  were  held  close  to  the  track, 
where  stayed  Maria  and  the  other  woman.  But 
Manuelita,  marking  which  way  the  men  of  Rio  Chico 
had  gone,  ran  after,  and  fell  in  behind  them. 

That  advance  was  made  in  two  lines,  the  soldiers 
trotting  single  file.  Those  on  the  track  were  heard 
from  first.  A  shot  rang  out — then  another.  Then 
the  battered  bugle  sounded  a  few  clear  notes,  which 
the  Mausers  obeyed  with  a  spatter  of  shots. 

Now  Tovar  turned  to  his  men  with  a  cry :  "  Ade- 
lante,  muchachos!  " 

The  soldiers  broke  into  a  run,  firing  willy-nilly, 
and  bunching  together  at  the  bridge  end. 

"  Viva  Montilla!  "  they  shouted.     "  Viva  Tovar!" 

Then  came  answering  cries  from  across  the  bridge, 
where  khaki  uniforms  were  swarming  in  a  hasty 
rally,  where  shots  were  plentiful  now,  and  a  drum  was 
keeping  up  a  steady  thump!  thump! 

Behind  the  cluster  of  men  on  that  bridge  was 
Manuelita.  She  had  no  thought  of  danger  for  her 
self,  though  the  bullets  were  flying  about  her.  She 
did  not  even  watch  the  khaki  figures  hurrying  to  op 
pose,  or  those  others  spreading  out  between  the 
bridges,  lining  the  Curiepe  to  prevent  a  crossing. 
Her  gaze  was  upon  the  men  of  Rio  Chico.  Her  dust- 
rimmed  eyes  searched  for  one  figure. 

But  now  Tovar  was  leading  Los  Salvadores  across 
the  stone-flagged  bridge.  Officered  by  red-sashed 
men  in  blue,  the  front  ranks  of  the  government  re 
ceived  them  with  bayonets.  Those  in  the  back 
ground  sent  upon  them  a  hail  of  lead. 

"Ah!" 

The  piercing  cry  that  broke  from  Manuelita  was 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelito,         341 

heard  above  the  clashing  of  steel,  the  singing  of  bul 
lets,  t?ie  curses  and  vivas,  the  shrieks  of  ag|ony. 
There  he  was,  there — in  the  very  front  of  the  fight, 
laying  about  him  with  his  machete.  Her  whole  body 
trembled,  her  heart  fluttered,  her  breath  came  in 
gasps,  she  choked. 

"  Madre  de  Dios!  "  She  clutched  the  spear-shaped 
knife.  "  Let  me  but  get  at  him  first !  " 

But^now  she  was  rudely  driven  back.  The  gov 
ernment  was  gaining — it  was  machete  to  bayonet, 
and  the  latter's  deal  was  the  more  deadly.  Los  Sal- 
uadores  retreated,  one  against  another,  clubbing 
their  Mausers,  filling  the  air  with  their  yells. 
Maria's  coronet  raced  up,  bringing  a  futile  order. 
For  Pedro  Tovar  was  out  of  earshot,  in  the  front  of 
them  all,  still  facing  the  enemy,  but  backing  from 
the  fierce  onslaught  of  the  men  in  yellow. 

But  where  was  Ricardo  ?  Manuelita  could  not  see. 
Forgetful  of  personal  safety,  she  sprang  upon  the 
nearer  iron  rail  of  the  bridge.  And  from  there,  look 
ing  beyond  the  line  of  hand-to-hand  combat,  beyond 
the  van  of  the  government,  she  saw  him — lying  flat 
upon  the  flags,  arms  stretched  out,  face  downward. 
At  his  curly  head  was  a  growing  pool. 

Like  a  flash,  she  was  down  and  standing  on  the 
bridge.  She  flattened  herself  against  the  hand  rail 
to  keep  from  being  knocked  off  her  feet.  Men  of 
the  Revolution  struggled  by  her,  bravely  contesting 
each  step  of  the  way.  And  now  Pedro  Tovar  was 
beside  her — losing  his  ground.  And  now  the  khaki 
of  the  government  was  on  every  side. 

"  Viva  el  Gobierno!    Viva  Domingo  Morales!  " 

Los  Salvadores  were  losing! 


342  The  Justice  of  Gideon 

She  eaw  more  khaki-clad  men  running  up  from 
the  tumbled-down  church  in  the  Plaza — running 
straight  toward  the  bridge,  toward  Ricardo,  help 
less,  but  moving  feebly  now,  turning  his  head  from 
side  to  side  as  if  in  pain.  They  would  cut  at  him  as 
they  passed! 

Another  cry,  and  she  made  her  way  back  along 
the  hand  rail  to  where  Tovar  was  swinging  his  black 
arms.  Then  on,  beyond  him,  to  where  showed  the 
top  of  the  Revolution's  colours.  A  moment,  and  she 
had  seized  the  bamboo  pole,  had  unfurled  the  blue 
flag  with  its  tricoloured  cross.  Then,  facing  about, 
with  cries  again,  she  pusned  her  way  toward  the 
black  general. 

"  Viva  la  Revolution!  "  she  cried. 

Spent  with  their  night  march  and  with  fighting, 
disheartened  by  retreat,  the  motley  forces  of  Mon- 
tilla  and  Tovar  now  beheld  a  girl  at  their  front, 
waving  aloft  the  flag  of  their  cause.  They  hesi 
tated;  then,  spurred  by  the  sight,  stood  fast. 

And  now,  with  cheers  from  Alcantara's  men  to  an 
nounce  a  victory  at  the  railroad  bridge,  there  came 
the  change  of  balance  in  that  fight  at  the  other.  A 
moment  and  the  government  was  retreating,  not  foot 
by  foot,  but  quickly,  up  the  gentle  slope. 

"  Viva  la  Revoluc'idn!  "  was  the  whole  shout  now. 
And  with  a  fearful  grin  on  his  black  face,  Pedro 
Tovar  cried  on  the  men,  cursed  them  into  fiercer  fight 
ing,  struck  them  with  the  flat  of  his  sabre. 

And  now  the  wavering  blue  flag  was  at  the  middle 
of  the  bridge,  was  on  the  farther  slope,  was  almost 
to  the  man  lying  face  downward  on  the  approach — 
then,  beside  him. 


The  Revenge  of  Manuelito,          343 

Another  hand  caught  the  bamboo  pole  there,  sav 
ing  the  riddled  colours  from  fluttering  to  the  ground. 
Still  the  government  fell  backward,  still  the  Revolu 
tion  pressed  on.  The  bridge  was  cleared,  except 
where  wounded  or  dead  lay  stretched  upon  the  stone ; 
the  clash  of  weapons  grew  less  and  less.  The  retreat 
of  the  government  was  a  rout. 

But  back  at  the  bridge,  unmindful  of  victory,  ex 
hausted,  yet  not  realising  that,  sat  Manuelita,  a 
soldier's  head  pillowed  against  her  breast,  a  wet 
cheek  rested  against  a  paler  one. 

"  Santa  Maria!  "  she  sobbed,  "  he  is  alive — alwel 
Madre  de  Dios,  I  thank  thee !  " 


THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
BERKELEY 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

not  returned  on  time  are  subject  to  a  fl™  nf 


JUf;   18 


Lf'JL  25  1531 1 


AUG  1  8  1989 
«W.flfC«Jf.,BPl 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


